


Cheap thrills and expensive tastes

by Alayne_StoneColdFox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babysitting, Burlesque, F/M, High School, London, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 84,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alayne_StoneColdFox/pseuds/Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 11pm on a cold saturday evening in Soho, London. There's an anonymous door down a side street, the only thing of note being the A-list crowd gathered on the pavement outside. The girls are achingly fashionable ,wearing barely there dresses that clearly cost the earth, each with scarlet painted lips.The men are fopish, well spoken and clad in designer suits. They eye the girls with a kind of detached reverie that only the privileged can carry off. </p><p>Welcome to the Mockingbird, the hottest nightspot, favoured by the few who can afford it, enticed by the tales of debauchery, scandalous excess, and rooms for hire upstairs.<br/>It's no place for Sansa Stark, a seventeen year old sixth form student, who only wanted to make a little extra money babysitting her young cousin Robin. How did she get caught up with her Aunt's new husband, Petyr Baelish, and his world that's so much more fast paced than the one she's used to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begging

“-Please Mum, please! It can be my birthday and christmas present and I won't ever ask for shopping money for the rest of the year!” Sansa begged, trailing after her Mother.

“And how many times have you said that?” Cat rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she darted into Bran and Rickons room, picking up old socks and discarded clothes from the floor and throwing them in the washing basket under her arm “You used that line when you wanted that new phone”

“But that was like, almost a year ago anyway” Sansa brushed off “Plus I didn't want a new phone, I needed one since the old one broke”

“Ah, yes, the old Nokia that mysteriously shattered into pieces, forcing me to get you that over priced, touch screen, Apple thing you spend half your life glued too” 

Sansa had to bite her tongue as she continued to follow her Mum into Arya's room. I mean, it was 2014. What teenage girl wanted to be caught dead with a hand me down Nokia? But no, Sansa wouldn't rise to it, her Mum was just trying to distract her with another argument, and she wouldn't be led off track.

“But phones are practical.....like bags are” Sansa weedled, slumping against Arya's door frame as Cat leant down to pull a pair of boys boxer shorts, or what counted as Arya's chosen pyjamas, from under the bed.

“For the last time Sansa, you are not getting a three hundred pound bag for your birthday, you're just not” Cat gave her daughter a look as she walked past that clearly said she was done talking about it.

Sansa could feel herself losing the argument.

“You got Robb a car...” she trailed off, voice mumbling.

Cat was now on her way down the hall towards the laundry room.

“A car is more practical than a bag, it was a twenty first Birthday present, and he got it second hand” Cat called out back to here as she dumped the basket down “There are a lot of reasons why that's very different, so there's no point comparing the two”

Sansa once again shuffled over as Cat loaded seven family members worth of laundry into the two washing machines they had. Sansa started to load one full of whites voluntarily, putting on her sweetest voice.

“But I already said a bag is practical. I've already picked out one that's on sale on net-a-porter, and it would fit everything I need in it, and the colour would suit everything I wear so I'd use it all the time, like, every day, and it would fit all my text books so I could use it at school and-”

“At school?” Cat fixed her with a sharp look “Even if I did buy you something so expensive, what makes you think you should be taking it to school?”

“What? All the girls at K.L have designer bags, it's not weird. Margaery has a Prada and Myrcella even uses one of her Mum's old Birkins!”

Cat stopped loading laundry to turn to her daughter. She finally had a sense about what this was all about, and sighed.

“Of course Cersei Lannister lets her daughter carry around a Birkin, ridiculous-” she muttered “Sweetheart, you have plenty of nice bags already. Girls your age don't need designer bags” 

Sansa's shoulders finally slumped, giving in.

“Fine” she said, dejectedly.

Cat gave her daughter's shoulder a small rub, her voice softer “And if those girls at K.L don't want to be your friend because you don't have an expensive hand bag, then they're not really worth being friends with, are they? I know it's scary starting a new school, but you just have to be yourself”

Sansa tried tried not to roll her eyes and smiled, but it came off a little stiff. 

I'd have a much easier time being myself if I had a posh bag hanging off my arm while I did it, Sansa thought.

“Besides” Cat said “We're getting you a new sewing machine for your present, if that news will cheer you up. No more having to use my beat up old thing”

Sansa looked down at the tiles. That did sound like a nice present actually. Something she'd forgotten she'd been wanting. Her Mum's old Bernina from the sixties had almost had it.

“Yeah,... that is cool, actually” she admitted “And ….are you maaaaybe still open to the possibility of talking Dad into letting me have a party?”

Cat gave her a look “You know he's not going to change his mind, not after what happened with Robb”

Sansa mentally cursed Robb. Ever since his eighteenth, where Theon had gone ahead and invited their entire year, and some of the lower form as well, pretty much trashing what was their old house back up North. Sansa remembered how loud her Mother had screamed when their were butted out cigarettes in her petunia pots. Her Dad wasn't too impressed with the passed out birthday boy he'd found passed out and duct taped to a stop sign down the road either.

The hope of any of the rest of them getting parties after that was all but squashed.

“But I told you Joffrey already said I could have it at his house, his Mum doesn't mind!”

“Well, I certainly still mind” Cat tutted “You're allowed a couple of friends over, and they can stay the night, but that's it”

Sansa deflated a little bit “Can't I at least have, like....six people stay over? We'd be sensible. Just watch movies and stuff, we won't even stay up that late”

“Your really pushing your luck and my patience right now, Sansa” Cat stood up to pour in a cup of detergent “Besides, do you know six people well enough to want them staying over yet?”

Not really, no, Sansa admitted to herself. They were only four weeks into the school year. She only had Joffrey and Myrcella, after spending most of the summer before term started over at their house, and fat chance of her Dad letting her new boyfriend stay the night. 

“But a party is the perfect way to make friends” she argued.

Cat started up the washing machine with a sharp press of her finger, drawing in a deep breath through her nose, regarding the big, pleading blue eyes of her daughter.

“.....four people. All girls, and lights out and asleep at midnight”

“Done” Sansa smiled, even if it was a minor victory.

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	2. Vintage

Sansa appeared in the kitchen, dressed in her grey pleated skirt and neatly pressed white blouse, ready for school an age earlier than her siblings.

Arya was still in her pyjamas, and so was Jon, but he didn't even go to school anymore so I guess that was forgivable. Both of them were having breakfast up at the kitchen island, with matching hairstyles that stuck up in every which way. Bran was across the room at the dining table, as it as lower and easier to eat from, given his wheelchair, and this was where Rickon had decided that he would eat his breakfast everyday too. Sansa noticed that Bran had homework sheets scattered alongside his cereal bowl, spooning in Cherrios as he scribbled out hastily added equations, while her Mum was still In her own dressing gown, desperately trying to stop Rickon from smearing marmite over his K.L. Reception uniform. 

“Morning” Sansa announced, darting over to the fridge.

“Mornin'” came Jon's lack luster response. Arya out did him with just a grunt.

Sansa gave her sisters unkept hair a look over “Might want to pick up a brush before we head off. You look like one of those people from the cartoons you watch”

Arya didn't even bother turning around “Its called anime and shut up. It's better than that Gossip girl shit you watch”

Sansa scoffed a little “I don't even watch Gossip girl”

“It's eight o'clock in the morning” Jon intervened “Do we have to have you's twos first fight of the day this early?”

Both girls huffed, but went back to their respective breakfasts. Neither of them would classify that as a fight. That was practically them getting along. Now last week when Arya had taken one of Sansa's favourite sequined tops to dress Nymeria up in, and Sansa had responded by cutting one of Arya's favourite band shirts in half with scissors....that was a fight fight. A seven on the scale of one to ten of how bad the two sisters could get.

There was a small silence before Arya spoke up again “Jon, can I have your egg?”

Jon looked up over his breakfast plate.

“Why?”

“Because it's runnier than mine” Arya said like it was obvious “I like the runnier ones better”

Jon gave a little bemused laugh, but slid his plate over the counter, while Arya grinned, passing him hers. He watched as she picked up a thin slice of toast and dipped it in the gooey yellow yolk.

“Bit old for dippy eggs and soldiers” Sansa said.

“Says who?” Arya said through a mouthful of food.

“Arya, manners, please” Cat said, striding past in her dressing gown to grab a wet wipe. The marmite battle with Rickon was being lost.

“Oh, Sansa” Cat called, just as Sansa had decided to pull out a yoghurt from the fridge.

“I was thinking-” she started, with Sansa grabbing a spoon from the drawer “Maybe, if you'd like...I do have an old Louis Vuitton purse in the back of my cupboard, if you'd like to have that”

Sansa stared wide eyed, the spoonful of Apricot yoplait in her mouth.

“You have a Louis Vuitton?”

Her Mother, her infuriatingly down to earth, un-extravegant, mother, had a LV bag hiding away upstairs all this time, and she was only just hearing about it?”

Arya frowned “What's a Louis Vuitton?”

Jon gave her a shrug, but both of them went ignored.

“I'd forgotten I had it, to be honest. It was a gift from my first boyfriend, when I was nineteen, back when he wanted to impress me and before he really knew I wasn't really into those sorts of things, and- ”

But Cat turned around and Sansa was already sprinting away, yoghurt pot abandoned on the counter.  
She was up the stairs and across the landing so fast that when Sansa went to barge into her parents room, she ran straight into her Father, just hurrying out himself.

“Woah, easy” Ned said in surprise, trying to tie his own tie and failing “What's up with you?” he could only asked, as Sansa ducked past and went straight to her parents walk in closet.

“Sorry, just in a bit of a rush” she said, leaning down to rummage among the bags and shoes lined up under her Mother's dresses.

“Mmm, that makes both of us” Ned mumbled “I think I'm gonna' have to ask Jon to drive you kids to school, I'm running late as it is”

Sansa could hear her Dad flipping through papers and files that had been scattered around almost everywhere since he'd gotten this new job.

“Damn meetings....endless day of 'em....gonna' have to sit through Baelish and all his numbers and finance talk I can barely get my head around, ...I swear all the numbers aren't adding up and I don't know if it's wrong, or I'm just slow and can't keep up, he rattles it all out that fast-”

“Can't you just show up when you want?” Sansa cut off her Dad's rambling, since he was talking more to himself anyway at that point.

Ned laughed “You think that's how jobs work then, do yeh?”

“When you're the boss” Sansa shrugged.

“I'm a boss, but I'm not the big boss, that's Robert, and I didn't become his Vice president by showing up mid-afternoon every day”

“Yeah, but still, you told me that last week he took you off to play golf with him one tuesday lunchtime. Doesn't sound like he'd care if you were a little late”

“Mmm, your probably right” Ned nodded “But that's Robert, not me. If I want to get this company in good shape again an example has to be set, and if I want the people that work for me to show up on time I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't do it myself”

“But if you work for Mr Baratheon, and if Mr Baratheon is always late and off playing golf, then you could just say you were following his example and he wouldn't be able to complain” Sansa said, as she emerged carrying her prize, which was still encased in the box it came in all those years ago.

“God forbid the people you end up working for” Ned smiled affectionately “You and that smart mouth e'll give them a run for their money”

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Sansa parted her lips as she leant across the school sink, applying just one of the touches of makeup she could get away with. Rimmel London vinyl lipgloss in 'keep a secret'. As if that was a colour. I guess it sounded nicer than just 'pale pink'. 

Maybe 'Keep a secret' was a pretty accurate name of it anyway. Technically the girls at Kings Landing Private weren't allowed to wear any makeup, but it's not like staff took that rule too seriously, since just about every girl broke it. It was her own Mum who had more of a problem with Sansa 'painting her face' as she would say.

'You don't need it, your pretty without it! You have a natural beauty' her Mum would say, every time they were in Boots and Sansa would stare longingly at the displays of Maxxfactor and Maybelline.

True, she did have lovely skin, even if it was a tad pale. Sansa was glad she never had any pimples. Even Myrcella got the occasional one, not that she'd ever be mean enough to point them out.

Sansa then dropped the 'secret' makeup back in her Mums LV bag. Her bag now, she smiled.

The last thing she needed to do was hitch up her skirt, safety pinning it around her narrow waist, so that it fell just a few inches past her bum. Another thing not technically allowed, but as if Sansa wanted to be one of the dowdy girls who actually wore their skirt a hands length above the knee, like that girl Gilly who ate her lunch in the library every day. Or worse, be like her sister, and wear sports shorts underneath, which flashed every time she ran through the halls. So embarrassing. 

The skirt. The makeup. Sansa could only imagine the gasps, the dramatic hand over the chest her Mother would give her, as if wounded to see the minor makeover she performed in the school bathroom every morning before classes started.

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Sansa stepped into the Sixth-form common room, and she could immediately see Margaery sitting on one of the sofas, surrounded by the ever present entourage of people that went everywhere she did.

She pulled her bag a little closer over her shoulder.

“Sansa?” she heard her name called out among the chatter of everyone else, Margaery smiling as she beckoned her over. Sansa smiled back.

Everyone wanted to be Margaery's friend, and Sansa was no exception.

She remembered being so nervous in that first Lit class, not sure where to sit, who to smile at, who to avoid. Sansa was one of only a handful of the new sixth-formers, with most of the year having been at KL since reception, growing up with each other, with their friendships already made. That first day had made Sansa wish she'd just stayed on at Winterfell for sixth-form, with Jeyne and Beth and her other friends, or that she'd even gone off to a sixth-form college. She'd briefly entertained the idea after looking up an A level fashion degree she could have done, plus Jeyne had said her sister went to sixth-form college instead too, and she didn't have to wear a uniform and sometimes classes didn't even start till midday. Her Mum had met this idea with a bit of badly hidden disdain though.

'Mess abouts go to college' Sansa had heard her say more than once. Usually in a subtle reference to Theon.

But when they were meant to be quietly reading and Margaery had leant across her desk with a smile, to ask if that was her real hair colour or not, a few of Sansa's nerves had flitted away. She had even said what a pretty shade of red it was.

“Hey you” Margaery said, as Sansa perched herself on the edge of the sofa.

“Hey” Sansa smiled, smoothing down her skirt, trying to blend into the conversation. Something about Big Brother. Sansa resigned herself to listening quietly, as she'd never watched the show herself.

“That's a new bag, isn't it Sansa?” 

Sara was the one who's said it, with her Sandy blonde hair and nails painted a particularly loud shade of neon orange.

A lot of the groups eyes were on her now, and Sansa tried to look casual.

“Oh, yeah, I got it yesterday” she said, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

“It's nice” another girl said, Mira “I remember I got a Louis Vuitton when I was ten or something, back when they were like, the thing”

“Yeah, nobody really buys them anymore now, do they” Sara said flippantly “Except if your kind of like that Kim Kardashian type I guess”

Sansa bristled.

“Oh, not that I'm saying your like Kim Kardashian or anything” Sara laughed, quickly “Your about a million shades too pale and as far as I know, you don't have a sex tape”

It was meant to sound funny and lighthearted, so that's why Sansa laughed along with everyone else.

“I didn't buy it actually, it was my mums. It's kind of vintage, you know?” Sansa shrugged.

“Oh, wow. I love vintage stuff, I always steal things off my gran” Margaery said “That probably makes me sound so lame, but I promise, she had some nice stuff back in the day” she laughed.

Sansa smiled, shooting a sweet look over at Sara. The fact that Margaery could even think anything she said could come off as lame was funny. Margaery's word was gospel. 

She wondered if half the girls here would suddenly appear with 'vintage' bags of their own next week?


	3. Telemarketers

“Your new friends look like right bitches”

This was the first thing Arya said as Sansa came over to join her at the front of the school.

“Shut up, they are not” 

“My mate Gendry says that Margaery girl's done it with, like, at least five different guys”

“Well, your mate Gendry's probably just jealous because he want's to do it with her, he just can't” Sansa snapped back.

Arya sneered, looking over at Margaery across the grounds “Like he'd be into one of those kind of girls”

“And what kind of girl is he interested in, a spastic like you? Is this Gendry your new boyfriend then?”

“No, he's just a mate!” Arya said a little too quickly.

There was a pause as both girls waited in silence, watching as classmates played small games of football on the front lawn, their bags spaced out as goal posts, as they waited for their parents to pick them up. Or perhaps in the case of a lot of students at KL, their chauffeurs or nannies.

Arya nodded her head back over at Margaery and some other girls she was with, all stood around chatting “Why'd you want to be friends with her anyway. Bet she can't even spell her own name”

“Margaery's dead smart actually, she's top in all her classes” Sansa said defensively.

“God, calm down.....are you trying to do it with her?”

Sansa gave her sister a shove and she got a shove back in return.

“Like your friends are anything to brag about, that fat hot potato boy”

“His names hot pie”

“Whatever, that's just as stupid” 

There was the beep of a horn, and both girls looked up to see a bright red sports car pull up roughly in front of them, nearly driving straight up the curb.

A blonde head stuck itself out the rolled down window, an arm slung out casually. There was another two sharp beeps and half the students in the area turned to look at the boy wearing the expensive sunglasses and obnoxious smile.

“Oi, Sansa!” he called, and Sansa had to keep herself from smiling too big.

Joffrey. Her boyfriend.

“What are you doing here!” She said as she hurried over to the car, the engine still running “I thought you said you had Uni?”

Joffrey scoffed “Just a lecture, like I could be fucked going to that” he said “Come on, get in”

Sansa went to move around to the passenger seat.

“Um, Where'd you think your going? What about Mum?” Arya called out, a frown on her face.

“Just tell her I'm over at Joffrey's, she won't mind!” Sansa said as she slipped into the car, Joffrey pulling out with a screech before she'd even clipped in her seatbelt. He almost clipped the corner of a parked car too.

As they drove out of the school gates, Sansa noticed with a small smile that Margeary, Sara and Mira had all noticed her speed off with her older boyfriend in his Porsche.

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“-and then Sara totally tried to show me up, saying all this stuff about Louis Vuitton being a Kim Kardashin type of bag, which I guess she was trying to make it sound like It was tacky or something, I don't know, but I bet that's what she meant-”

“Mhmm” Joffrey mumbled as he slid a hand up Sansa's school skirt, rubbing up her thigh. She was almost in his lap at this point, the movie playing in the background pretty much forgotten about as Sansa talked, and Joffrey leered.

“-But then I turned it all around on her when Margaery said it was cool after I told her it was actually a hand me down from my Mum...well, I didn't use the word hand me down, since that sounds kind of gross. I actually said it was vintage, and Margaery totally agreed-”

Sansa was cut off by Joffrey pressing his lips against hers in a rough kiss, which she eagerly sunk into.

For a moment.

“Do you think it's nice?” she asked, pulling away.

“What?” Joffrey frowned at the question and lack of kissing.

“My bag. You don't think its tacky do you?”

Joffrey shrugged “I don't know”

He went in for another kiss, his hands still roaming over the tops of Sansa's legs, but Sansa wasn't done.

“I mean, your Mum has Louis Vuitton bags, doesn't she? I think I've seen her with at least one, and the luggage she brought up to our house when you all visited was definitely Louis Vuitton”

Joffrey let out a very audible groan “Does it matter?”

Sansa gave him a look, amazed how he could even think it didn't? His Mum, Cersei, had been one of the super star models of the nineties. She'd walked for Chanel, Versace, Calvin Klein....she had framed pictures of her with Kate moss and Naomi Campbell in the hallways, the first thing Sansa had noticed when she'd first stepped in the door. She was always dressed in the latest collections, and Sansa had never seen her wear the same pair of shoes twice. If anyone could make her feel secure in her fashion choices, it was Cersei.

“It's just a dumb bag, why are you worrying about it? If this girl said something about it just....just tell her to fuck off” he said, like it was obvious.

Sansa could tell he was annoyed. She shouldn't have babbled on about it. Boys didn't like talking about bags and fashion, she would have thought she'd known that by now after living with four of them. She felt his hand creep back up her leg, and she let him lean in to kiss her again.

Just then the door to the theatre room opened, and Sansa jumped a little further down the sofa, smoothing down her skirt and hair as Tyrion Lannister appeared in the doorway.

“Hello children” He said in his usual posh twang.

Sansa managed a small, polite, smile but Joffrey just groaned “And what do you want?” he demanded.

“Well as fun as it is interrupting your clumsy teenage groping session-”Tyrion nodded towards Sansa “-I'm actually here to inform you that your Mother's rang. Want's to know if you'll be back in time for tea, or will you be staying here?”

Sansa looked over to Joffrey, in a kind of silent ask for an invitation. 

He gave her a small shrug of his shoulders “Stay if you want, up to you”

Sansa turned back to Tyrion “Can I? You wouldn't mind?”

Tyrion gave her a wry smile “Me? I wouldn't mind one bit, and I don't doubt my sister would be fine with it as well, but before we set your place at the table I will add that your Mother said, and I quote, ' If she doesn't come home right now, you can tell her she won't be having any birthday sleepovers at all'.... end quote”

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“Sansa, can you get your brothers fingers out of his mashed potatoes please” 

Sansa did as her Father said and pried Rickons little hands away from his food, as he laughed, pleased with himself.

Her parents hadn't been too mad. A little mad, sure, but the lecture about 'making plans' and 'keeping them updated' was kept brief by lecture standards. Sansa hoped this was them finally warming to the idea that she was almost seventeen and she could have a boyfriend without it being a big deal.

“Muuuuuum” Arya turned around in her chair “Hurry up, we're going to die of starvation!”

The main rule of Stark family dinners, no one could eat until everyone was sitting up at the table.

“Cat, the kids are getting restless” Ned called out, but Sansa could hear his own stomach rumbling.

“I'm coming, I'm coming, or did you not want any bread to go with your meal?” Cat chided, placing the basket of sliced bread and the small dish of butter at the centre of the table. Bran's hand went forward to grab a piece, but it was slapped away as Cat pulled out her chair.

“Not before grace” she said, looking over at Sansa “Would you like to do it tonight, dear?”  
She said it a little pointedly, as if to asure her that another lecture could come her way at a moments notice if she refused. Sansa didn't really mind though. She said grace the most out of her siblings anyway, especially since Robb left.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this gift of food you've placed upon our table-” she started, but was interrupted with a sharp ring from the telephone.

“Oh for the love of-” Cat sighed, scraping her chair across the floor.

“Leave it” Ned said “It's probably just telemarketers”

“And how do they always manage to call just as were about to eat?” Sansa heard her Mum say from across the kitchen.

Arya groaned, but Ned waved his hand “No, you go ahead, you can start”

There was a flurry of hands as they all dived for the bread.

Sansa was smearing butter across her piece as she heard her Mum pick up the phone. For a second she felt sorry for the poor guy on the other end, they were probably going to get a right talking too.

“Hello, sorry, this isn't a good time, we- wait, I'm sorry, what?” Sansa heard her Mother pause. Then their was a gasp “Oh, Lysa! Oh, sorry, darling, sorry, I didn't mean to sound like that, no I thought you were one of those awful people trying to sell me insurance or ask me about my computer system or some other nonsense”

Sansa caught eyes with her Dad, and he pulled a bit of a face. Nobody expected a call from Aunt Lysa, who lived all the way up in Chester. They hadn't seen her in ages, she hadn't even come to Rickon's christening. They got the yearly christmas card but that was about it.

“Yes, yes, we're fine, I'm getting used to London, Ned's settling into the new job......yeah......yes....and how are you?.....Oh, good, that's good to hear-”

Sansa's eavesdropping was interrupted by Arya leaning across the table to whisper to her.

“Is Aunt Lysa the one who whipped a tit out at the restaurant that one time?”

“Arya, don't be disgusting!” Sansa cried while her brothers laughed.

“But it was her, wasn't it?” Arya giggled..

Sansa remembered. It had only been three years ago but she still remembers how mortifying it was as Aunt Lysa breastfed her six year old son in front of the entire Thai restaurant they were all out at for her Mum's birthday, making everyone uncomfortable, and then making it worse when she got into a full on fight with the waiter who tried to politely ask that she do it in the bathroom, yelling about her rights as a woman and a mother, and how dare they try to shame her for something so natural and beautiful-and oh god, it made Sansa cringe just thinking about it.

“Wait, what do you mean you're here in London?.......Well, when did you come down, why didn't you call me sooner?......A party? What kind of party? Your birthdays not for months-”

Sansa's ears perked up. A party?

“So Is it for anything in particular or......? No? Ok, so it's just a party then. You've come all the way to London to throw a party........ what do you mean 'don't sound like that', I'm not trying to sound like anything.......well, it is a bit out of nowhere Lysa and........oh, don't be like that, of course we'll come. We'd love to come”

Sansa could see her Father wilt a little as he heard that.

“Wait, what was that last part?” Cat stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, phone clutched in her hand “...meet your boyfriend? Since when have you had a boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petyr's POV will pop up next chapter : )


	4. Taxi

Petyr yawned as the cab drove excruciatingly slowly through the congested london roads. You couldn't drive anywhere in the city faster than you could walk, but it was nine PM on a saturday night, and he'd just gotten off a five hour train journey from Cornwall. It was a damn good thing his meetings had gone so well, to make the journey worth it. He would have rather just skyped into a conference call, but Olenna Tyrell was a an unyielding and old fashioned bitch. Couldn't trust a company with her families holdings if she couldn't deal with them face to face. But still, securing them as clients meant that now he had the Tyrells, the owners of the largest hotel chains in world, the Lannisters, the mining industry moguls, and the Baratheons, one of the leading banking firms, firmly working through him and his own company, Baelish asset Management.

Yes, they were all the big wigs, the old families with old money who ran the companies they'd inherited through status and the elite notion of modern aristocracy that England still clung too. I mean, for gods sake, Ned Stark as vice president of The Baratheon Banking company? The man wasn't ready for it, he never would be, Petyr thought. Just because him and Robert Baratheon went to Cambridge together didn't mean he had any right to push his friend into that position. Now he had to deal with righteous old Ned Stark, someone who apparently kept much more honourable finances than Jon Arryn or robert Baratheon had ever done. Irritating at best, disastrous at it's worst. 

But no, he wouldn't think about that now. He was tired. He might have been in a first class carriage but those seats had still made his neck and shoulders ache. It made him feel old.

He stared out the window and recognised the streets.

“Make a left down here, down Walkers court” he instructed to the Cabbie on a whim.

“We making a stop?”

“No, just passing by. Call it a scenic route” Petyr said.

“Right you are”

He wanted to check on his club. The Mockingbird. An earlier business venture that came long before any asset management position. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was the lifestyle, but Petyr couldn't bring himself to let go of what he'd started in that non-descript old building in the middle of Soho. 

As the cab turned down the street, Petyr noted happily that their was a queue around the block to get in. Good to know Ros and Olyvar could handle the place on their own when he wasn't around. He'd have to pay a visit tomorrow just to make sure.

The Cabbie let out a low whistle as they inched past in the traffic.

“You know that place there? The place that ain't got no sign on it?”

Yes, my place, The corner of Petyr's mouth twitched upwards “No? Why doesn't it have a sign?”

“One of those places you just got to know about” he said, in that thick cockney way Petyr could never stand “The Mockingbird it's called”

“And how do you know about it?”

“I'm a cabbie! We know London like no one else!” he roared with a laugh “I've been pickin' people up from this street for years and you should hear the stories I hear about what goes on in there!” 

Petyr smiled “So is it some kind of night club?”

“Sex club more like....or what do you call it?... Burlesque? You know, how they got all these acts and shows they put on, ladies with the feathers, sittin' in big champagne classes, takin' off their clothes”

Petyr wanted to laugh.

“Really? How wild”

“Yeah, yeah, they had an article in the Sun about it, how Prince Harry and all that lot go there. Rich types. I once picked up a bloke who said it cost him something like one thousand pounds just for a table on a week night, and he saw these twin girl contortionists, chinese I think he said they was, and they was all hanging off these silk ropes from the ceiling, doing all their tricks and splits right over the tables, comepletly naked”

They were korean actually.

“Ah, sounds like quite the place”

“Yeah, but you know what? End of the day, it just sounds like a lot of money for a classed up strip joint. If you wanna' see a lady take her clothes off, you can do it somewhere else for a lot cheaper, know what I mean?” he laughed.

“Mmm” Petyr nodded. 

“And you know what else I heard?” the Cabbie said, somewhat excitedly. Maybe he wasn't used to getting this far in idle conversation with his customers “I heard that theres this VIP bit upstairs where it gets even crazier, like, full on orgies go on up their, cocaine, prozzies...all that stuff”

Prozzies, Petyr winced at the word. Terrible word. He much preferred the term escorts. And as far as he knew, there had only been one orgy, when foreign prince Oberyn Martell had been in town.

“One guy got me to drive him all the way from here to Essex and the whole ride he was braggin' that he had it off with three girls that cost him about a thousand pounds each”

Yes, as much as a table on a weeknight, Petyr thought with a little cynicism.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Petyr arrived at number One Hyde Park with a sense of relief, followed immediately by one of dread. Relief that he was home and his bed was upstairs waiting for him. Dread, as he remembered that Lysa Arryn was going to be in that same bed.

The flurry of constant texts he'd endured during his trip was bad enough, now he'd have to deal with her in person again.

Out of all the shady things he'd done to get ahead in a business venture, telling a slightly mentally unstable woman that he loved her wasn't even that high on that list. Though maybe he could count her a little higher on his list of regrets though. He'd wanted access to Jon Arryn's accounts, but after months of being Lysa Arryn's 'boyfriend' (he despised that word, as she insisted on using it. He was too old to be called a boyfriend) he was wondering if it was really worth it. Millions of dollars in stocks, investments and land was one thing, but Lysa's fleshy stretch-marked thighs were another.

He stepped out of the cab, small travel bag in hand, and dropped off a generous tip back through the window. The man had been somewhat of an amusement in his own way.

Petyr rarely used the front entrance of the Hyde Park apartment building, with its vast lobby, all glass and marble, shining and modern. He usually drove straight down into the private underground basement, using the elevators to zip right up to his suite. As he made his way in he was reminded of how tight the security was here. He'd heard the guards were trained by the british special forces, and that the glass was bullet proof. The kind of thing that was necessary when the tenants were Russian Oligarchs, Chinese billionaires, Arab sheiks, and celebrities and businessmen alike.

Petyr's apartment itself was spacious and grand and impersonal. The furniture and décor had all come with the apartment, no doubt arranged by some big name interior designer, not that Petyr had bothered to note it. There weren't any family pictures on the wall, no unkept piles of books or clothes strewn about at all. A colour palette of mostly black and white. A few different shades of grey, maybe the odd beige sofa or wall. interior design for the cold and distant. Lysa had added a few garish throw pillows since she'd moved in, but that's all Petyr had let her get away with.

As he finally arrived outside his own front door, Petyr paused. He heard chatter. Laughing. People inside his apartment. Multiple people.

Lysa had people over?

Odd. The women barely kept company outside of her son and himself. Why would she have people over?

He didn't like that he now had to step into his own home with a sense of trepidation.

He made his way in and across the entrance hall. Coats and scarves were hung up on the guest hooks, and he could see through to the living room, full of mingling people.

“Petyr!” Came Lysa's expected cry as he emerged.

Petyr put on a smile as she crossed the room, with Lysa pulled him into a hug.He used it as a chance to glance over her shoulder and started spotting faces. There was Nestor Royce, and his daughter. Neighbours, you could call them. Anya Waynwood, her son Donnel, Vance Corbray...the closest things Lysa had to friends.

“Lysa, what is all this? You didn't say you were having people round?” 

“Oh, Petyr, I missed you, this place is so big and empty without you!”

“And I missed you too” but answer the question, Petyr thought as he smiled, his face suddenly dragged into a kiss. He cut her off quickly though, as Lysa didn't seem to mind using her entire tongue in front of guests, whereas he did.

“Uncle Petyr!” A little boy rushed through the crowd.

“Robin!” Petyr caught the boy as he practically jumped into his arms. Good thing he was so scrawny for his age.

“Did you bring me back a present from Cornwall?” 

“Maybe” Petyr said promisingly, before turning back to Lysa “But no, really, dear...” he gestured to all the people milling about “What is all this?”

“Can I have the present now? Is it in your bag?” Robin tugged at his jacket.

“Are you surprised? I wanted to surprise you?” Lysa grinned with too much teeth, practically tugging at his jacket too.

“Mum, tell him I can have it now, tell him!”

“Surprise me?” Petyr chuckled gently, his mind whirring.

He hated surprises.

“Mum!”

“Here!” Petyr pulled open his bag to thrust a stuffed toy robin and a packet of rock candy into Robins grabby spoilt hands.

The boy hurried off without so much as a thank you, and Petyr turned to smile at Lysa, in a way that would look effortless to anyone watching, but in reality was so very-very- forced . Lysa battered her eyes at him in what Petyr assumed was meant to be an endearing way “I know you said you wanted to wait until we went public with our relationship, buuut...” she wheedled, trailing a finger up his arm.

Buuuut now she'd made it impossible to avoid being made public. Great. Fantastic. He'd just been blindsided into outing his relationship with Lysa Arryn.

“You know I only wanted to keep what we have private to protect you. Its not been that long since your husband passed, you know how people might talk” he said gently.

“Oh, let them talk, I don't care! It's been long enough and I want you to meet all my friends! I've been dying to show you off”

It would have been bad enough if she had wanted to announce it on Facebook, but now Petyr had to actually had to socialise.

Petyr felt himself being led by the arm through his own living room.

“So who's here exactly?” he dared ask.

“Oh, the usual, people on the scene, a few people from around the building, some old work friends, family, except for Edmure, he's still up in the Lake District, said he was too busy to come down and visit-”

“Family? Is your sister here?” Petyr asked as the thought suddenly struck him.

He saw Lysa's smile thin a little “Yes, she's here, with her family. Well, the two girls and her husband, anyway” Lysa rambled, while Petyr tried not to let his eyes travel around the room too fast. 

Cat was here. 

He was suddenly very aware of how travel weary he might look, how his dress shirt was probably looking creased. 

“She didn't seem very keen on the idea of me dating again, but imagine what she's going to think when she see's it's you!” Lysa said, her grip around his arm an iron one.

“Yes, I think she'll be a little surprised” Petyr placed a hand over hers.

You'd like to think this is you winning, don't you? He thought, smiling down at her.

They made their way into the crowds, Petyr grabbing a drink, and he put his mask on. He went about shaking hands, smiling, laughed, played a gracious, if yet slightly taken by surprise, host (“Yes! Honestly, I had no idea! This one's full of surprises, isn't she?”) stopping to talk to everyone Lysa dragged him in front of, retelling the story of how they met over and over again, with many, many details left out, mind you, but the whole time he wanted to spot her.

Ever since the Stark's had moved to London he'd been waiting for a chance. Catlyn Stark. She was one of them now, not a Tully, as he'd met her. Every day he worked with Ned Stark he kept himself in check, never asked about her, barely mentioned her, but whenever their meetings ended Petyr would have the bitter little thought that Ned was on his way home to her.

He wasn't going to chase after her, go sniffing around for her. He wasn't pathetic. Just curious, and he knew if he searched for Cat directly it would only make Lysa's hair trigger jealousy spring up, and what good would that do. It had been years, but she was here, and he could wait another half hour if need be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some quick notes about some of the places I've included in the fic.  
> The Mockingbird I've based on a very real burlesque style club in London called the Box, and if the prices I listed in the story seem unrealistic, well they're entirely not. It really is $1000 pounds for a table on a weeknight, and Prince Harry really does party there. A scandalous place that was a big part of the inspiration for the story. Petyr's apartment building is real too, number one Hyde Park.


	5. Long Legs and Long Hair

Sansa wished her Mum had let her bring her phone. There was nothing to do here except talk to a bunch of old adults.

“I'm starting to think Aunt Lysa doesn't even have a boyfriend” 

Or her sister.

Arya was slumped down next to Sansa on the sofa “Maybe she just went completely mad and imagined him, and he never actually shows up, or we ask her where he is, and she looks surprised and goes 'what? But he's been here this whole time?' and points to an empty chair, and the night ends with us calling services to take her away”

Sansa laughed, despite never wanting to admit her sister could be funny some times “I don't think she's quite that mad yet. I mean, her place is nice. She must have some part of her life together”

“Yeah, but this isn't her place, is it? It's 'the boyfriends'”

“True” Sansa admitted.

There was another pause of bored silence and Sansa prodded at one of her nail cuticles. She was thinking of asking of she could get them done professionally up at some salon, get those french tips that Margaery had. She'd told Margaery about her birthday, and she'd said she'd love to come. Sansa didn't know if she particularly wanted Sara to come....but Mira was alright though. Maybe she'd invite Myrcella, even if she was a little younger. 

“Hey, do you want to go and have a look around?” 

Sansa frowned at Arya “Look around at what?”

Arya shrugged “I don't know, stuff. The upstairs bit”

“Like that's interesting or something?” 

“Well, I don't know, theres nothing to do! All the food here is rank as well. I bit into a pasty puff and it had spinach in it, and even the mini quiches have mushrooms in them” Arya slumped against the back of the sofa “Wish I could have stayed home with Jon and babysat too”

Sansa silently agreed. Jon never came to any of Mum's family functions, for obvious reasons, and Rickon was too little for fancy parties, and Bran usually got out of things since it was a fuss to get to most places in his wheelchair. 

Usually she liked parties, going to new places, especially a fancy place like Hyde Park, but the atmosphere here....it was just off. Aunt Lysa wasn't exactly a socially gifted goddess, she didn't even have music on, and Arya was right, the canapes weren't even good.

“Yeah, lets go have a look around” she said, suddenly, deciding it was at least something to do.

Arya's face lit up a bit “ I want to see what Robin's rooms like, I bet he has a bunch of expensive crap up there”

“And what, you're going to take it?”

“Well, if he has a million x-box games, I bet he won't notice if ones missing”

“Arya!”

“What?”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0oo0

Just as Petyr was greeting Anya Waynwood with the usual pleasantries, he caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eyes.

It was her.

But no. No it wasn't. It only took a split second to realise that was stupid, as he turned to look properly at what was obviously a girl in her late teens. Much too young to be his Cat....but as she turned idly, her long red hair swinging across her back, he caught sight of her face. Saw her bright blue eyes....

He swore it could have been her.

“and I hear you met up with Olenna Tyrell these past few days?”

“Hm?” Petyr snapped back to reality “Ah, yes. Yes, lovely woman” he lied “A charm to meet”

“Yes, she is, isn't she. I remember meeting her all the way back in our, oh...what would we have been? Possibly in our twenties, I don't quite remember...it was at the Duke of Kent's birthday, some big extravagant affair and-”

But Petyr was barely listening. He managed to shift his position, turning his body as to make it less obvious, as he watched over the old woman's shoulder at the girl from before.

She made her way through the crowds, another younger girl following her. She had on a rather plain dress, with short sleeves and a short hemline, in a pale pink colour. Even if it was plain, it was rather fetching in its own way. But maybe that was just because it was tight, and Petyr noted that she had rather long legs to match her rather long hair. 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

“If people ask us why we're up here, just say we were looking for the loo” Sansa said, as her and Arya explored the top floor landing.

“Right” Arya nodded.

It was just as open plan as the first, with a black lacquered kitchen and long eighteen seater dining table, with yet another seating area, leather, like down stairs. The sofas were arranged around an ultra cool looking fireplace, where it was a low black table with a glass box going all the way up to the ceiling, but inside were stones with a low fire dancing all around them. Half of the walls were nothing but huge panelled windowsl, giving a fantastic view of the city and all its lights. Now she wished she had her phone even more, so she could take a picture.

Sansa was busy staring out across the city sky line as she heard Arya open the fridge behind her.

“Ooh, they have Ferrero Rochers!”

“Arya, put those back!” Sansa hissed “They'll know their missing”

“No they won't, it's a big packet! Besides, If I can't take any x-box games, I think I should at least be able to pinch a chocolate” Arya said, unwrapping one and stuffing it in her mouth before Sansa could say anything else about it.

Sansa rolled her eyes and left her to it, wandering over past the dining table.

There was a large shelf, covered with books and CD's and other knick knacks. One of those swinging steel ball thingies that psychologists always had in their offices in the movies, a glass dish full of peppermints, a little clock that had roman numerals on it instead of numbers, a couple of little ornamental statues, one being a long thin geisha lady, bashfully holding a fan, and another a small Egyptian sphinx. 

What could she tell about this man her Aunt Lysa was seeing? Sansa pulled back one of the metal balls on the newtons cradle, watching as it tick, tacked, tick, tacked back and forth. Maybe he was a psychologist? He liked mints. He could read roman numerals. Maybe he'd been to China and Egypt, and seen real Geisha's and Sphinx's? 

She turned her head to read a couple of the book titles. A lot of them looked dull and plain and were as thick as bricks. They had names like 'The economist guide to analysing companies' and 'Valuation: the market approach' plus the ever so interesting sounding 'Financial institutions and markets 7th edition'.

He wasn't a psychologist, he was an accountant, Sansa decided. Had to be. No one read books like this for fun. She looked down across the lower shelves for a more interesting spine. Big oxford dictionaries, sets of encyclopaedias, Atlases, a lot of autobiographies of politicians Sansa didn't care about, plus all the books everyone just seemed to have and she was forced to read in school. The Great Gatsby, A Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird. There were quite a lot of books actually, but her eyes only darted over them until they started getting more colourful.

Art books. Big, full colour, coffee table books. They were on the lowest shelf, Rembrandt, Dali, Yayoi Kusama and more. Maybe this new boyfriend was quite tasteful, even if he was a boring old accountant. Sansa knelt down to pull out the Dali book, pulling it open to see the glossy pages of melting clocks and skinny legged giraffes. She only dawdled on it for a second, closing it to slip it back in its place on the shelf, but she stopped a caught sight of the book cover behind it.

A Dita Von Teese book.

The cover was a bright Aqua blue, with Dita herself posed on the cover in a pink sequinned bra and shimmy skirt, holding her huge performers feathers. Sansa all but dropped the Dali book on the floor as she dove for it.

The first page she opened it too had Dita sitting with her back to the camera, a tight corset on, but nothing else. It was classily done in a way, but still, the sight of her entire bum taking up half the page made Sansa flip quickly through the book. The next few pages weren't much better, one of her laying across a bear skin rug, posing coyly in a bathtub, a few candid shots of her stage shows.

Were where the dresses? Sansa had two separate issues of Harpers Bazaar where Dita had been on the cover, and the photo shoots of her in Jean-Paul Gaultier and Christian Lacroix dresses had been so special they'd ended up in her scrapbooks. Yes, she had a very nice bum, but more importantly, she was a fashion icon. 

Sansa slipped the book back, a little put out. But then she thought that this man probably hadn't bought the book for Dita's fashion sense. 

She made sure to glance back to make sure Arya had wandered off to another room, as she got up and popped a mint into her mouth. 

Next to the glass dish was a small lacquer box. It wasn't particularly interesting looking, put Sansa popped the lid up anyway.

Business cards and paperclips, that's all that was inside. At least she thought they were business cards, they were the right size, and there was a small stack of them. Sansa pulled one out and found they were actually made of a hard plastic, and they were more like one of those rewards cards, the type you got from Boots or Sainsburys. 

'The mockingbird' it said in a shiny silver script against a matte black background, with an address underneath. She flipped it over and it said VIP on the back, and there was even a little silver bird, perched on top of the capital P.

It was quite pretty. There looked to be about fifty of them in the stack, all identical. Sansa paused for a second before slipping it in her bag. 

“Robin doesn't even have an X-box, he just has a Wii” Arya grumbled as she trudged back from down the hall, having raided her cousins room already “And he still has like fifty beanie babies on his bed as well” she stopped and stared as Sansa placed the lid back on top of the lacquered box “Did you take something?”

“No” Sansa lied, acting offended, ignoring the taste of mint in her mouth and the little card in her purse.

Then they heard the sound of heeled footsteps coming up the polished wooden steps, and they whipped around to see their mother appear in front of them.

“Girls, I've been looking for you, what are you doing up here? ” she said, a ghost of a frown on her face.

“We were looking for the loo” Arya said quickly.

“Lysa told you there was a downstairs one when we arrived, she pointed it out”

“Someone was in their earlier when we tried it” Sansa added.

Cat didn't look like she believed them for a second but she didn't argue “Well, come on, I want you downstairs with everyone else. At least try and socialise”

“But theres no one here our age” Sansa said as she and Arya followed their Mother back down the steps.

“Like you can't talk to someone older?” 

The girls trudged along back into the mix of party goers, trailing after Cat.

Their Father was standing awkwardly by the side of the room, holding a napkin with a half eaten canape on it.

“One of the mini quiches?” Arya asked as they came over.

Ned nodded, grimly.

“I chucked mine in that pot plant by the door” Arya whispered with a smile, pointing it out by the entrance hall.

He laughed under his breath and Cat gave her husband a warning look “Ned, don't you dare”

“Cat!”

The call came from through the crowd, and Sansa watched as her Mother turned in surprise to face a man, a smile on his face and his arms out, as if beholding her in front of him.

“Petyr?!” she said, with a smile that seemed more surprised than it did warm “I...hello! I didn't know you were here?” her words came out all in a rush, as she gave him a curt hug, and Petyr leant forward to shake Ned's hand.

Someone her Mother knew?

“I'm a bit late, as it were” Petyr smiled “Work held me up”

“Don't you just manage to pop up just about everywhere. You went on some business trip recently, didn't yeh?” Ned asked.

Someone her Father knew too then.

“Yes, just got back tonight” he turned to Cat “God, it's been a long time since we've seen each other, hasn't it? You look good”

Cat laughed “Yes, yes it has”

“And these must be your children!”

Sansa stood up a little straighter, smiling politely. Arya made no effort to un-slump, or look less bored.

“Well, two of them anyway, my girls. My eldest son is away at university and the younger two boys are at home” Cat said proudly “This is Sansa and this is Arya, girls, this is Petyr Baelish. An old friend”

“And I'm a colleague of your Father at the moment” Petyr added, giving them his hand to shake.

Sansa took it. If he worked with her Father then maybe he was a businessman too, that could be why his grip was so firm.

“Nice to meet you” she smiled. Arya was mute during her quick hand shake.

“So you've kept in touch with Lysa then?” Cat asked.

He let out a breath of a laugh “You could say that”

There was more idle chatter after that, their work, what Rob was studying at uni, the weather. Dull things, Sansa had been drifting in and out. She looked at this new man, this Petyr Baelish. He wasn't that tall, if she wore heels Sansa was sure she'd be taller than him and he was dressed quite smartly, his suit a dark navy, with a silver lapel pin on his jacket. A little bird.

She glanced up and caught his eye. He'd noticed her noticing him. He smiled but Sansa quickly flicked her eyes away.

Then Lysa had appeared. Sansa saw her coming, over the shoulders of the others as they were busy talking, had watched as she'd swept over, straight to Petyr's side. No one even had time to say anything, not even Petyr, before she pulled him into a kiss right in front of them.


	6. A proposal

“Petyr Baelish! Littlefinger?!”

“I know, I know, I... just.Keep your voice down, Cat-”

“But Ned, honestly, I know she liked him when we were younger but this is ridiculous!”

Sansa lingered by the balcony door, where her parents didn't think anyone was listening. The curtains had been pulled across inside anyway, no one could see they were out here.

“You work with him Ned, has he really not said anything about this?”

“No, I told you, I didn't know”

“Does she know what he does? What he really does?”

“Cat, don't work yourself up about it, not now”

“Jon Arryn hasn't even been in the ground a year! He was your friend Ned, how do you feel about this? What are people going to say?”

“It's not....it's not our business what Lysa does-”

“She's my sister!”

“And he's your old friend”

Sansa could hear her Mother let out an exasperated sigh “Yes, but he's.....it's not.....this just isn't-”

There was the tapping of cutlery on glass, a call for a toast.

Looking up, Sansa saw her Aunt Lysa smiling at her guests, champagne glass in the air. 

She stuck her head out the sliding glass door to her parents “You might want to come inside, I think there''s going to be a speech or something”

“A speech?” Cat frowned, but they followed her in anyway.

They settled themselves at the back of the now silent crowd, all eyes on Lysa, who was grinning ear to ear.

“First of all I'd like to thank you all for coming, my friends and family, you're all people who have come into my life and made it richer” then she tilted her glass down to where Petyr stood at the front of the crowd, sharing a smile with him “And then there are the people who have been here all along, Petyr, and my darling little boy Robin”

Sansa could have sworn she had heard a small scoff from her Mother. Wether it was over the comment about Petyr , or about Robin being described as a darling little boy, she wasn't sure.

“It's been a hard time for me this past year, as most of you might know, and I couldn't have done it without Petyr. He was here for me, my rock, a pillar of strength....without him, who knows, I might not even be here...”

“Honestly, the dramatics...” her mother whispered under her breath.

“I don't know if you all know that me and Petyr where close as children. We've been a big part in each others lives since we were young, and to this day I count myself so blessed to have had someone so warm and kind and gentle in my life”

She is laying it on a bit thick, Sansa thought to herself. 

“Petyr” Lysa looked at him so warmly, even crossing a hand over her heart “You're perfect to me. You're perfect for me”

There were a few 'Aw's' from the audience, and a small retching sound from Arya, while Petyr stood there, modest looking as he smiled. He smiled a lot, Sansa noticed, almost as if the expression never quite left his face. It was odd, no one had reason to smile that much.

“And since I know-” Lysa continued, to the surprise of Sansa and a few other, who had thought the little speech over “-That I will never find another man quite like him again in my life....Petyr....I'd like to ask you a question”

There were a few murmurs, as Lysa let out an excited giggle that seemed out of place on a women her age, as she beckoned Petyr closer towards her.

Sansa watched him step forward, his step a tad hesitant. He looked as surprised as the rest of them, but that smile was still there, still fixed on his face.

“Lysa...?” he gave her a silent look as she took his hands in hers.

“Petyr....will you marry me?”

There were a few gasps, some exited, some startled. Sansa's eyes widened as she glanced over to her parents, who were staring like they couldn't believe what was unfolding before them.

There was an almost uncomfortable silence as everyone turned to Petyr. He hadn't said anything. He was just smiling, his eyes boring into Lysa's.

Sansa saw her Aunt's smile waver, just a fraction, could see how heavy her breaths were, even from all the way back here. Lysa was gripping Petyr's sleeve so tightly, and thats when Sansa saw it. Just for a second it was that brief, but she saw it. His smile slipped. She saw him lick his lips, blink a few times too many, and that smile...it slipped but in an instant it was back. The same one he'd had on all evening.

“I.....yes....yes, of course I'll marry you!”

And then there was clapping, and a couple of whistles, as Lysa and Petyr shared a kiss.

Sansa and Arya joined in the clapping, as did her parents, but her Fathers mouth was set in a thin line and her Mother looked in disbelief.

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Petyr breathed. The bitch. The mad bitch.

He stood on the balcony alone, trying to gather his thoughts.

He'd wanted to come home, have a warm shower and fall into bed. Now he was at an engagement party. His own. 

“Mum, Dad, are you out here?”

Petyr turned and saw the girl, Sansa, appear out the sliding glass door, coat in hand.

“Oh, hi” she said a little shyly as she saw only him “I was just looking for my parents”

“I'm sorry, but they're not out here I'm afraid. Just me” Petyr smiled “Don't tell me your leaving already?”

Sansa dipped her head “Yeah....my little sisters getting whiny and wants to go home”

A good lie, Petyr thought, but he suspected it had something more to do with her parents themselves.

“Fair enough. I think the parties winding down anyway. I saw old Mrs. Waynwood falling asleep on the lounge with a glass of sherry in her hand, and I can't say that doesn't sound tempting”

“What? Sleeping with Mrs. Waynwood on the lounge?”

Petyr let out a laugh. She'd asked so earnestly.

“I...I didn't mean it like that” the girl had the grace to smile with him.

“I'm sure you didn't”

She ran a hand through her hair, so it cascaded down over her shoulder. It was a couple shades lighter than her Mother had been, and It hung down to her waist, but it didn't look fake. Peter abhorred fake hair, so many girls auditioned for his club with those awful clipped in extensions, and they wouldn't get the job unless they were taken out. She really was quite pretty, this Sansa. She looked so much like Cat, but there was something more to her beauty as well that was completely her own. Pale skin, delicate features, rosy cheeks. An English rose you'd call her, if you were being twee.

“How old are you, Sansa?”

“Seventeen....well, next month I will be”

“Ah” young, he thought. A little too young “Happy birthday for next month then”

“Thank you”

“Still at school?”

“Yeah, I'm doing my A-levels”

“Where at?”

“Kings Landing private”

Of course she was going to Kings Landing, everyone who was anyone sent their kids to K.L.

“So...when my Mum said you were old friends...does that meant you went to school together?”

She was curious, that was nice. Less nice to realise that Cat had probably never mentioned him.

“Yes, up in the Lake district, at what would have been your Granddad's boarding school”

As far as Petyr knew, Headmaster Tully was still there, old as he was.

“I've been there, when we went to visit. It was so pretty. I'd love it if my school was next to a lake and all those gardens”

“You liked the gardens?”

“Oh, yes, all those flowers and the apple trees they had running down the entrance, I still remember them”

That made Petyr smile “Well, that's lovely to hear. My father planted those trees”

Sansa gave a little questioning crook of her head.

“He was the groundskeeper”

“Oh”

Petyr still remembered helping him plant them, ten years old, clothes covered in dirt and sweat, patting down the soil as his Father would move down the long gravel pathway that lead to the posh entrance of River Runs most prestigious boarding school, to dig the next hole. 

Good work for a poor Irish catholic family to get. They only had a small house at the back of the grounds, but Petyr was still given a place at the posh school. His clothes and books were second hand and his accent was made fun of, but he was top of all his classes, and he always had Catelyn and Lysa Tully to call his friends. He missed those days sometimes. He could still remember sitting at the back of the class, waiting for Cat to turn in her chair so he could catch her eye, just to give her a smile.

“You look so much like your Mother”

He said it without thinking. The words just escaping of their own free will.

Sansa smiled, small and polite “Thank you” 

She'd said it as if it was all she could think to say, and Petyr made sure to look out across the balcony. He was suddenly conscious of how much he'd been staring at her all night. He'd have to watch that.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Robin Arryn, joining them on the balcony.

He had his bag of rock candy in one hand and the stuffed toy under his arm. He walked out, only half regarding them as he stepped up to the glass ledge to look over the balcony.

“Hello Robin” Petyr said, pointedly.

“Hi” the boy muttered, stuffing a piece of rock in his mouth. Then he grabbed another piece from the bag and threw it as far as he could off the edge of the rail.

“Robin, I've told you before. We don't throw things off the balcony”

Petyr's voice was a warning. The other week the boy had thrown one of his expensive wrist watches, and the week before that it had been the kitchen glass ware.

Robin just responded by throwing another piece of rock.

He hated kids.

“Sansa, hurry up”

Another girl stuck her head out the door to the balcony. The younger sister.

“Mum and Dad are in the hallway, come on, we're waiting for you”

“Sorry, I'm coming” Sansa turned back to Petyr “Um, it was nice talking to you...thanks for having us. Your house is really nice”

Petyr nodded at the politeness that Cat had no doubt drilled in her.

“The pleasure was all mine. I hope to see you back”

“Bye Robin!” she called back at her cousin. 

Petyr watched her leave with her sister. Maybe he should've felt a little shame in the fact that he glanced over her backside as she left, but he wasn't going to pretend it wasn't a nice view.

He turned around in time to watch Robin drop the stuffed toy he'd given him over the edge of the balcony, sharing the same fate as all the rock.

Petyr resisted the urge to pick Robin up by the scruff of the neck and fling him over with it.

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The car ride home was tense.

The Starks had left pretty soon after the 'announcement'.

“I don't even care....do what she wants....her problem...not mine.....god....just so ridiculous”

Her Mother had been murmuring in the front seat a lot. Her Father was very silent, letting her rant.

Sansa stared out the window as London passed them by. 

It was odd to think that there was going to be this new addition to her family, in a way. This Petyr Baelish, with his big apartment and glass fireplace, who was probably an accountant but shook hands like a businessman, who went to school with her Mother and worked with her Father, and may have been to both Egypt and China, and liked peppermints and books with pictures of Dita Von Teese's bum in them and had an easy smile that never quite left his face unless you were watching at just the right moment. 

'I hope to see you back'

She was going to be seeing more of him, she supposed.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the little modern take on Petyr, Cat and Lysa's childhood : )
> 
> I've made Petyr's age around 39 in the story, with Cat already in her forties, so they would have been at school in the eighties.
> 
> That's when there was a lot of unrest in Ireland and fighting between the Protestant majority and Catholic minority, and there was an influx of Irish immigrant to England to escape the civil war that broke out. The lake district, which aside from sounding uncannily similar to the river lands, is also in cumbria, which is right off the coast of Ireland. I thought it would be a realistic place for Petyr and his Father to try and start a new life. I could go even further into my own modern headcanon and say that Petyr's grandfather could have been a catholic Italian, in place of being Bravosi, who went to Ireland in the fifties during WWII. I promise I won't go on in the story about this like it's a history lesson or anything though! Haha.
> 
> And it's sweet to imagine the upper class Tully girls running through the gardens and befriending the little boy who knew all the best tree's to climb.


	7. Tea

“I cannot beleeeeive you are engaged. Oh my god. Wait till Ros hears. She won't believe it, you'll have to show her the ring. Are we going to have to throw you a stag party?”

Petyr slide a warning look over to Olyvar. He wasn't in the mood.

They were sitting in one of the more secluded booths of the Mockingbird, all the way on the private floor, the VIP section.

The club itself mostly consisted of a stage, and the booths and tables were open and spacious around it, allowing for the hoards of people who came to watch the debauched and entrancing performances, and drink at the bar the stretched along one side of the room.

Above the first floor was a balcony, a half floor that looked out down onto the stage, with more seating, and booths that had thick velvet curtains that could be pulled across, for a more private party.

And above that, if you looked upwards and noticed the glass panelling near the high ceilings, this was where the VIP floor was. If you went through another heavy set of curtains, guarded by a bouncer, there was a staircase the led up to the third floor. As soon as you stepped into this more lounge like room the setting became so much more intimate. The ceiling was lower, the lights dimmer, and everything was rich and red and inviting. The noise from downstairs muffled, and instead of the hard and fast music there was always low tempo remixes of much older songs, giving it such a different vibe. Tonight they were playing a drawn out rythmic version of Eartha Kitt's 'Champagne taste'. The glass panels were actually one-way windows, and Petyr sat with Olyvar and looked down at the current stage show through the tinted glass.

It was one AM and they were almost through with the Alice in Wonderland show. It had been Ros's idea, Petyr found the Alice in Wonderland trope a bit overused to be honest, but it had proven popular enough. They were just at the part where Alice goes down on the Queen of hearts as she writhes on her throne, splayed in front of the crowd. Ros was playing the Queen.

“But what would you even do for a stag party? Every other night is like a stag party for you....did you know what my cousin Rebecca did for her hens night? A high tea. Yeah, no, honestly, we all went round to her house and had cups of earl grey on Grandma's good china and little cakes on doilies, and it was so cute I wanted to vomit all over the cucumber sandwiches”

“Olyvar, can't you just let me drink alone?”

He liked the boy, as much as he would let him self socialise with any of the men and women he employed, but as he said before. He wasn't really in the mood.

“No. My twelve thirty's late and I don't have anything else to do”

Petyr reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small leather book, flipping to the most recent page.

“Ah, him. This is the second time he's been late for a boy. Maybe his campaigning's holding him up again. They're always like this this time of year” Petyr slipped the book back.

Olyvar slumped down “I hate fucking the political types, they're so paranoid. The last one I had was so convinced I'd taken a picture of him. I only took out my phone to check the time!”

“Hah” Petyr laughed “He's one of three seats the liberal democrats have in a one hundred and twenty nine seat parliament, how important does he think he is to worry we'd blackmail him?”

“Well, theres always his wife”

He scoffed “Please. I have better things to do with my time than send an ageing trophy wife pictures of her husband fucking twenty one year old boys, thank you very much”

They sat in silence for awhile, Eartha Kitts smoky voice rising above the low chatter of the small, sparse clusters of people in the lounge.

“You know Heather's getting pretty serious with this new boyfriend of hers” Olyvar said after some time.

“And?”

“She's talking about quitting”

Petyr nodded, smile stretched thin. She'd only been here five months, the short but busty brunette Heather, who was 'only trying to pay off uni fee's' as sixty percent of his girls claimed, but she was good. Had started to work up a regular client base. Was willing to cater to at least two strange fetishes which was always helpful. She'd been making good money.

“I'll talk to her” Petyr said.

This was the kind of business where, naturally, boys and girls came and went. Petyr tried to select them carefully, but there was still the odd one who only lasted two or three weeks, despite thinking they knew what they signed up for. Then there were the ones who got found out, by parents or friends, and the ones who developed drug habits and had to be let go, or ones that got pregnant and actually wanted to raise it, or the one in a million who simply threw in the towel since they'd made all the money they'd wanted to make and didn't see the point anymore.

The most irritating reason though was when they left because they'd found someone, a boyfriend, a girlfriend. Someone they were willing to give up this life for, to trade in the parties and the sex and the easy money to try for a chance in dreary, monogamous bliss. He didn't run a back alley business, this was five star club with six star clientele, who were willing to pay a thousand pounds for two hours of their time. Some of his best workers were bringing in as much as ten thousand a week, and in his experience ten thousand dollars lasted a lot longer than most of these partners ever would, but they never liked to hear that.

“But no, really, back to this engagement thing, how are you going to get out of it? You can't really marry this woman”

Petyr regarded Olyvar over his glass. He didn't even say anything.

“Oh my god, you're actually going to go through with it”

“She wants to take me down to the registry office as soon as the fifteen mandatory days wait is done” he said, matter of factly. 

Lysa had sprung a marriage on him and he had to adapt. He'd never get near the Arryn accounts if he turned her down now, especially since she all but threatened to drop a hairdryer in her next bath the last time he tried to negotiate his way around their living together.

Besides, marriage had its perks. Like divorce settlements. When you had a team of the sleaziest lawyers this side of the U.K, that would always be something to look forward too.

Petyr Baelish was nothing if not an optimist.

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Sansa was struggling with the ticket machine as she tried to figure out her fare and what buttons to push. She hadn't caught the train without her parents before, never had a need too.

Margaery ended up sorting it out for her. 

“You should get an Oyster card, it's much faster than buying tickets” she explained, as the two girls filed through the barriers with the the crowds.

It was hot and cramped as they travelled down the steep escalators,the tiles walls lined with posters advertising the latest west end shows. She'd been in London for almost two months now and she still hadn't seen a single show. Sansa made a mental note to ask her Mum if they could go and see Mamma Mia...or maybe Le's Miserables. The Anne Hathaway movie had been good. Then it was down through the maze of old tunnels that made up the underground. Sansa was elbowed by a women rushing to get by her, almost stumbling into a group of Japanese tourists.

“Stay close, don't want you getting lost” Margaery smiled, her school cardigan now tied around her waist and her hair down loose.

Apparently she caught the train a lot. She was down to earth like that. 

They only had to wait a minute or two for the train to arrive, coming down through the tunnel with a gust of wind. It was a fight to get on, and everyone stood so packed together they could barely move. Forget getting a seat. There was a boy eating McDonalds and it smelt. There was a man who was stood entirely too close to Sansa, breathing too loudly through his nose. A baby had decided this was the perfect time to start wailing. Plus, it was pitch black as they rattled through the tunnels.

Why on earth did Margaery do this by choice?

Nevertheless, they arrived at Oxford circus, exiting right out onto the high street.

Topshop was their first port of call, with current poster girl Cara Delvigne smouldering down at them from the giant billboard.

Half an hour in and Margaery already had about six things bundled over her arm, flowery, lacy things with girly prints and sequins.

Sansa was a little more selective. Her Mum had only given her forty pounds.

She stared a little enviously as Margaery picked up yet another dress to try on. They were both from old money families. Estates and titles and lineages that could be traced back hundred and hundreds of years, every generation being considered in the upper echelon of British society....not that it really showed with the Starks. The Tyrells had their hotels and Margaery's own Grandmother had been a golden age hollywood film starlet. Sansa's own Father had had a career in the army, and her Mother suited a home life. They'd never really bought into the society life style, not in the way that Sansa had wished they had. She still had to do chores, there were no maids or chauffeurs, or fancy parties. She could understand why, 'to keep you humble' her Dad would always say, and she should be grateful that at least they did live in a nice big house, and got to go to a posh school.

But still. It would be nice to have a bit more than forty pounds to go shopping with.

“Found anything? I don't think I can carry anymore” Margaery laughed.

“Yeah” Sansa made herself smile, holding up the two tops she's found, neither of which she could afford “Lets go find the change rooms”

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“Mum, come and see the new necklace I bought!” Sansa called out as she came home, heading straight for the kitchen.

Margaery had gone home with a new dress, a pair of jeans and pretty chiffon top, while Sansa made do with a meager success in the accessories department.

Her Mother wasn't alone in the kitchen though, Aunt Lysa sat up on one of the kitchen stools, cup of tea in hand.

“Hello” she said cheerily.

“Oh, Hi Aunt Lysa” Sansa was surprised to see her, but gave her a quick peck on the cheek regardless.

It had been weeks since the party, but Sansa got the feeling this was an amicable visit as she dumped her school bag on the floor.

Her Mother tutted, fussing around with drawers and plates “Not in the hall please, take it up to your room”

“In a second” Sansa said, pulling out her Topshop bag “Look, isn't it pretty?”

She held up the small dragon fly pendant for her Mother to see, and Cat turned it over on her hands “Very pretty” she agreed, mouth a little thin “Did that use up all of the forty pounds?”

“No, it was only fifteen but we went to Costa as well”

“You didn't fill up before dinner did you?”

“No, we only got vanilla lattes and shared a piece of carrot cake” Sansa said, clipping at the necklace packaging with one of her nails.

“Do you even like coffee?”

“Yes” She muttered, lying just a little. She still needed to put in three sugars to make it drinkable.

It was annoying how knowing her Mothers look was

“So, Lysa, sorry, you were saying?”

Lysa swallowed her tea and launched back into whatever she must have been saying before Sansa arrived “Yes, yes, where was I.....after all that dreary paperwork we went and did it, just me, Petyr and Robin, it was so lovely! Much better than all that stress and nonsense of a big white wedding, we're too old for it, we decided. No, we just had it low key and intimate, went to a restaurant after...and it was perfect, absolutely perfect”

Sansa glanced up at her Mum.

“So it's all official? Your married? Man and wife in the eyes of the law?” Cat's tone was light hearted but her smile was forced.

“Yes!” Lysa all but squealed in her own delight “It's bliss, honestly, I feel twenty five again, and Cat-” Lysa leant forward a little over the kitchen bench “The things that man did to me on our wedding night-”

Sansa took that as a cue to leave.

The upstairs landing of the Starks new London townhouse had become the kids main domain. Each of their separate bedrooms were down the adjoining halls, but the landing had old couches and a big TV that the boys and Arya played all their games on, call of effect, mass duty, or whatever it was they were into each month. Plus all of Rickons toys and Bran's huge crates of Lego, and their computer desk and a beat up old mini air hockey table, a haphazardly stacked bookshelf, a dollhouse that Sansa insisted on keeping for sentimental reasons that was now home to all of Rickons transformers, and the big coveted bean bag chair that all of them fought over every single day after school, as it was the choicest seat there was.

But this day Sansa walked up the stairs to see little Robin Arryn in it, X-box controller in hand, scowl on his face.

“I want to play bowser! I wanted to be bowser in the first place!”

“No you didn't you said you wanted to be toad” Arya made no effort to hide her annoyance. Sansa wondered how long Lysa and her cousin had been here.

“I didn't, I wan't to be Bowser, toad sucks!” Robin cried.

“You only want him because I'm winning with him”

“No I don't, you're not being fair, I don't know how to play with this controller, that's what makes it unfair!”

“Well, if it's so unfair, why don't you just not play?” Bran said scathingly.

Tears bristled in Robins eyes “Fine!” he shouted, as he jumped up and ran past Sansa, back down the stairs, no doubt to his Mother.

Her siblings watched him go and finally noticed Sansa standing there. She gave them all a look.

“Now you're in for it”

“Whatever, he gets upset over everything, he's so annoying!” Said Arya.

“It's not our fault he can't stand losing” Muttered Bran.

“Mum's trying really hard to be nice to Aunt Lysa and if you mess around with Robin it won't make things easier. If you pick on him they won't come 'round at all”

“Good” Said Rickon “I don't like her. She smells weird and she got lipstick on my face when she kissed me”

Sansa turned on her heels to follow Robin down the steps.

They were so immature. Sansa didn't particularly like Robin or her Aunt that much either but they were still family. Besides, if Mum was going to be yelling later about how they'd made their cousin cry, then Sansa would make sure she wouldn't be suffering through it.

She found Robin, true to form, clutching at Lysa with a tear stained face in the kitchen. Lysa was bent down, stroking his hair and cooing worriedly in his ear, trying to coax words out of him as he cried.

When Sansa walked in, her own Mother caught her eye. It was a warning look.

“-They're being mean,and I don't like them, and I didn't even want to play Mario Kart, and I want to go home and-and- and-” Robin hiccupped between great over-wraught sobs.

“Robin?” Sansa said gently “Are you alright?”

“He is not alright, look at him!” Lysa spoke for him, sharply “It's ok baby, you don't need to play anything you don't want to, I'll go and tell your cousins to-'

“Nooooo!” he whined “I don't wan't to play with them, I don't like them!”

“Sssh sshhh that's fine too, darling, you don't have too, you can stay here with me down here in the kitchen-”

“Want to go hooome” Robin wailed pathetically.

“Robin” Sansa started gently “How would you like to play with me? Just us, I'll tell the others to leave you alone, and we can play Mario Kart by ourselves ”

“No!”

Sansa could feel her Aunt and Mum watching her.

“Are you sure? You can pick any character you want, promise”

He sniffed “...I wanted to be Bowser..”

“Right, then you can play with him, and who should I choose?”

“....You can be Peach. She's a girl character”

“You sound like you know a lot about this game. You must be very good” Sansa flattered.

Robin wiped at his nose with his sleeve, daring to pull away from his Mother a little “I've unlocked all the trophies at home and one time I didn't even fall of rainbow road, not once, and only, like, one in a million people can do that in that world, ever”

He wasn't smiling yet but Sansa stuck out her hand for him to take “Well, maybe you could teach me then, I always fall of rainbow road, I'm definitely not as good as you”

It only took a little more coaxing before she ended up guiding him back upstairs to the now abandoned landing, the others having made themselves scarce in their rooms.Sansa sat down with Robin to play race after race, choosing every track, making sure to let him win every time.

By the end of the hour Sansa was bored and her smile strained, but Robin was laughing and happily telling her about all his other games that he was, of course, the best at. 

They'd gone back downstairs again when he'd complained of being hungry, and Lysa and her Mother were still talking over their now empty cups of tea.

“-And really, you should look into home schooling, it really lets your child reach their potential when you have that one on one with them. I think Rickon and Bran could really use that kind of attention, myself”

“Mmm” Cat smiled, thinly.

“-And you could come over and play games at my house any time you wanted, and it would be much better ,since I got a kinect box for my birthday, and we could play Wii sports and do doubles in tennis, and bowling too” Robin chatted loudly as he followed Sansa into the kitchen, where she led him to the pantry, getting out some Jaffa cakes from the packet for him.

Lysa was all smiles “Are you having fun now? Playing with Sansa?”

Robin nodded, cramming a Jaffa cake into his mouth, crumbs spilling to the floor “Can she come over tomorrow? To Petyr's house?”

“Our house, you mean? We live there now too” Lysa laughed.

“But can she? I said I'd show her my new Lego's”

“Now, Sweetheart, I don't know about tomorrow, you have your Violin teacher coming over tomorrow afternoon”

“The day after then?”

Sansa nibbled on a Jaffa cake. She'd only been nodding along in a pandering sort of way when Robin had offered to let her come over. She didn't really want to go on a play date with her little cousin.

“I don't know, baby, we're very busy this week. You have your lessons, and we're going to go into town to pick up Mummy's dress from the tailors, and I have that dentists appointment I have to get too, and we're going to lunch with Mr's Waynwood while she's still in London-”

“But I wan't to play with Saaaansaaaa” Robin whined, teary voiced.

“Oh, don't cry, please, baby, don't. You have Mummy to play with, you always have Mummy to play with”

But big fat tears were already welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill.

“You know, Lysa” Cat said “Maybe Sansa could babysit for you after school. Surely it would be easier to get to the tailors and to your dentists appointment on your own”

Lysa was patting Robin on the back, looking unsure.

“That's kind of you to offer...but, no offence, you are quite young...”

“She'll be seventeen soon, and she's very responsible. I leave her in charge of my younger ones all the time, and you've seen how good she's been with Robin”

Sansa was staring at her Mum, trying not to glare outwardly, wondering why the hell she would put her up for this.

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Lysa had agreed in the end, with a little convincing.

Sansa was sitting on her bed, laptop propped open, trying to browse Pauls Boutique like she wasn't furious.

“It's because she thinks you're spending too much time shopping with Margaery and going over to Joffreys house, I heard her talking to Dad after dinner” Arya said helpfully, lingering down the bottom of the bed.

“It's so unfair” Sansa muttered, half over the predicament with her cousin, and half because the tote bag in the sale section was already out of stock in the colour she wanted “I won't even get paid for it”

“Could get a job?” Jon offered. He sat on the floor, playing a game on his phone.

“Well, I can't now, I won't have the time for school, Robin and a job”

“What job could you even do?” Arya scoffed.

Sansa bristled “Shop work. Like at Harrods or something”

“You wouldn't get into Harrods as your first job” said Jon “Try Primark more like”

Sansa looked disgusted at the mere notion.

“I would never work at Primark”

“What about McDonalds?” Arya smirked as she suggested it “I reckon you'd suit a Mickey D's uniform. Little hair net and everything”

Sansa was about to throw a pillow as her sister but then the little skype message box popped up on her screen.

“Rob's on!” she yelled, clicking connect.

Arya scurried up to prop herself next to Sansa on the pillows, as did Jon ,with Bran and Rickon abandoning their video game as they hurried in from the landing, just as Rob's face appeared on the screen.

Sansa was squished in the middle as all of her siblings tried talking at once, all of them clambering in front of the screen.

“We missed you!” 

“What're your classes like?”

“Have you tried to grow a beard?”

“Is it cold up there yet?”

“ROOOOB!!!”

“Rickon get out the way!”

“Budge up, I'm falling off the edge here”

“Turn up the sound, I think it's on low”

Rob just laughed at the commotion “Oi, settle down, you lot are worse than Mum....and my beard looks good, Jon, don't hate”

“Have you been to any Uni parties yet? ” Sansa asked.

“Ah, yeah, a couple” Rob laughed “And yeah it is getting colder up here” he answered Arya's question “I guess it's still fairly warm up in London? Um...what were the other questions?”

They chatted on about the weather, and about Jon's job and Bran getting a merit certificate at school, and Arya managing to get on a girls football team down at the local sports centre, and Sansa showed him the necklace she's bought. Stuff that had happened in the past couple weeks, since the last time they'd called.

Then as they were catching Rob up on Lysa's surprise marriage, Sansa spotted a figure walk past in the background of Rob's dorm room. The screen cut off the girl above her shoulders, but Sansa could see her cute pyjama shorts and tanned bare legs stride across the room.

“Oh, is that the girlfriend, is that Talisa!” she cried, pointing.

“Oooooh, hiii Talisa!” Arya laughed.

“Oooooh, girlfriend” Bran joined in, while Rickon stuck out his tongue in disgust.

Rob groaned as his brothers and sisters laughed and catcalled, as Talisa wandered back over giving a shy little wave to the camera in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Olyvar and Ros are going to appear more in the story, as part of 'that' side of Petyr's life.
> 
> And I made Talisa Rob's girlfriend instead of Jeyne. Not for any particular reason. Rob and her won't show up much anyway.


	8. Magnetic

“Just....can we go over it one more time, I'm just not sure about it”

Petyr had to hold his tongue and his fingers bit into his palm. One more time, one more time, this was the fifth time Ned had asked to go over the books again. Jon Arryn had never questioned him like this, didn't keep him cooped up in this damned office for past an hour with the air conditioning turned on full blast like it wasn't already cold outside.

“Dammnit, Ned, what's the issue?” Robert groaned, lulling back in his high backed chair at the head of the conference table.

“Robert, this is a lot of money to be throwing around, and how can you be sure it's best of the company if we don't calculate the risks-”

“That's what Petyr's here for! He calculates the risks, he takes the money, he makes us more money, it's not hard!” Robert said, growing impatient.

“It's company money, thirty million dollars worth of it-”

“-And if you invest it now in the stocks I've outlined here in my reports-” Petyr nodded to the thick files Ned was flicking through “-You'll see ten times that amount by the end of the year. Thirty million is chicken feed compared to what you stand to gain”

“I just...this hedge fund...I don't like the idea of them, they're not SEC approved, they're not regulated, and I don't trust them. It's a risk we don't need to take if we just go through mutual funds-”

Ned was talking to Robert, but Petyr spoke over him.

“-mutual funds won't make you half the profit, no matter how well you trade, and the fact that what I'm suggesting isn't regulated only means more goes in your pocket at the end of the day. With the right leverage and timing you'll make above market profits-”

“Which completely depends on the markets rise and fall” Ned said flatly.

Petyr gave him a smile “And I can assure you, I've never been wrong about the markets rise and fall before, Mr Stark”

“The mans a magician Ned, I swear it. I could give him fifty pence to put in his pocket and he'll pull out a ten pound note five minutes later” Said Robert, as if it decided the matter.

God bless Robert Baratheon and his love of money and lack of questions.

later, after the meeting, and after a lengthy phone call to his company underlings about the new money that just poured in, just as he was heading towards the lobby of the Baratheon building, Petyr was chased down by a scrawny intern.

“Mr. Baelish, sir” he called out, Lancel, a boy Petyr knew was only here because of his families connections “Mr. Stark wanted to see you, up in his office. Said he still wanted to talk to you”

Petyr's lip curled upwards. He was being summoned. 

Ned looked up from a scattering of papers on his desk as the rap of knuckles sounded against his open office door, and it wasn't a smile that came to his face. 

“Mr. Baelish” he said curtly.

“Please, so formal? Call me Petyr” he met Ned's cold look with a smile.

He wasn't invited to sit down, but he crossed the room to one of the soft leather chairs anyway. 

“Now, what did you want to discuss so badly that you had the Lannister boy chase me down?”

“I don't like sleazy business” Ned said without pause.

Petyr smiled “And here I thought you might have wanted to congratulate me on my wedding?”

That didn't get him a laugh. He hadn't expected it too.

“I don't know what deals and how many ponzi schemes-”

Petyr tutted “They're hardly ponzi schemes-”

“Whatever you want to call them, I won't have them here, not while I'm in this office. I don't know how Jon Arryn let all of this go on, but no more”

“I feel like a delinquent school boy brought in by the headmaster. Are you going to ask me to lay my hands on the desk and whack me on the knuckles with a ruler?”

“You think this is funny?” Ned glared.

Petyr shrugged “I think you think that 'unregulated' funds somehow unequivocally means 'illegal' funds when that's simply not the case. This is all above water, I assure you”

Ned did not look convinced.

“Even if it is legal, which I'm still not convinced it is, even if Robert doesn't mind turning a blind eye, it's still a huge risk. And I can't help but notice that either way this deal goes, wether the loans pay off for us or not, you still get your money”

“A fee for my services, yes, but my earnings depend on your earnings. It only makes sense for me to make as much profit as I can for you”

“So you can take a bigger percent. I'm not one of you banking types but I know the basics of it”

“Well, I'm glad you think you know the ins and outs of my business after a quick trip to yahoo answers after googling the term 'hedge funds for dummies'”

“Careful” 

“No offence intended” Petyr smiled “You just need to understand that I am in the business of making money, and I'm good at it”

Ned's lips tightened “I know. Everyone sings your praises as you fill their pockets, but I don't trust you”

Petyr could almost laugh “Smart move too. This is the business world, there's not much trust to go around. But if your getting richer, why complain?”

“.....I think you can see your way out now, Mr. Baelish”

Petyr stood up to make his leave, sticking out his hand to shake.

“Until next time then”

Ned didn't take it.

O0o00o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o000o0o0o0o0o0

“-and he's only allowed water and milk and all natural juices but not the ones with the pulp, he hates the ones with pulp, so no sugary drinks or fizz, they get him too riled up. He's allowed snacks, but only at the set times I wrote down for you. It's good for him to have structure-”

Sansa listened to Lysa prattle on and on as she walked through the Hyde Park apartment, a lot emptier than it had been on the night of the impromptu engagement party. She'd come here straight from school, and was glad for that trip into town with Margaery earlier in the week. It made it much easier to catch the train to Knightsbridge on her own, and the station was just across the road.

The snack times Lysa had written down was accompanied by many more piece of paper. It was a dossier. A guide to Robin Arryn. Sansa had flipped through them and seen printed off procedures for the Heimlich manoeuvre, a list of movies that were deemed appropriate and in-appropriate, as well as the correct way to pack away his toys after he was done playing them.

“And I don't want you slacking off and dumping him in front of TV so you can do your homework or text your friends” her Aunt said Crisply.

Sansa was a bit taken a back “I...yes, of course, I wouldn't do that”

“Good” Lysa smiled, all sweetness again.

They arrived in the upstairs bit, where Robin sat at the long dining table, sheets of paper and buckets of colouring pencils and markers surrounding him as he scribbled. He looked up excitedly as Sansa arrived.

“Sansa, look at the pictures I've done” he said “This is me skydiving onto a trampoline and this is a dog, and that's his dog family, and they're all watching”

“Oh, that's really good” Sansa smiled, thinking his dogs looked more like horses and they probably shouldn't be purple.

Lysa went off shortly after giving Robin multiple kisses on both of his cheeks and assuring him he could ring her any time he wanted, as well as pointing out most of the safety services numbers as well, just in case Sansa couldn't remember how to dial nine nine nine.

Sansa was then forced to be an artist.

“Draw me the Ninja Turtles”

“I don't know how to draw Ninja Turtles...” Sansa held a pencil over the page hesitantly.

“Well, I won't make you do all of them. Just do Michealangelo” Robin instructed.

Sansa tried sketched out a circle for the head, rembering that they had masks at least, and a big oval body, attempting to give them lumpy biceped legs and arms. She didn't know how to make It look like they had a shell. She didn't know how to draw the feet or hands either. Another lumpy circle was meant to be a fist, and she draw a long sword in his hand.

“No! Michealangelo has nun-chucks, not a sword!” 

Sansa had to rub it out and fix it. The nun-chucks looking more like a short jump rope than an actual weapon. 

Robin seemed happy enough with it, as he scribbled over it with a green felt tip. Sansa was a little irked that he went so badly outside the lines.

Sansa ended up having to draw several more dodgy masterpeices. A crocodile. A shark and a pirate boat and a pirate captain. Herself and Robin riding in a cool car. Robin riding a motorbike and Robin in space with aliens, and Robin and ironman fighting some men with guns. Iron man had been especially hard to draw.

By the time the list of requests were done he had a pile of colouring to get through, keeping him busy. Sansa checked her phone quickly. Loras had put up a new selfie on instagram and she debated wether she should like it or not. Maybe she shouldn't, Joffrey might see. 

“Mummy said you weren't to be on your phone while you were meant to be playing with me” Robin muttered, still scribbling.

“Just checking the time” Sansa shoved her phone back in her school bag. 

She ended up grabbing her own piece of paper to pass the time.

She tried drawing a lady, with a curvy waist and long hair. She drew thick individual lashes around the eyes, and lips in red felt tip. Inspiration hit when Sansa remembered that Dita book only across the room on the book shelf, and decided that her lady would have a fabulously designed costume. The corset had a sweetheart neckline, and a lace up front, and the skirt was short at the front and long at the back, a long train sweeping across the page. She fished around in the felt tip buckets to pull out a gold glitter gel pen, and added in little ribbons. Robin even has those little stamp markers, and she used the rose shaped one to dot a pattern down the bottom of the train, and stamped one carefully in her ladies hair as well. She got a bit carried away with it really, sketching in a pair of satin gloves, stiletto shoesand some lacy stockings too.

“I'm bored....I want to play Hotwheels” Robin said, just as Sansa was carefully colouring in her ladies dress with a pink wind up crayon.

“But you still have some pictures to colour...don't you want to finish them?”

Robin gave her a look that said it wasn't up for debate.

She packed and tidied up all the colouring stuff down one end of the dining table, but slipped her own drawing back into her school bag, as Robin emerge from his room with a plastic box full of minature cars and another full of the plastic track.

“We have to choose race teams” Robin said, pouring out the hotwheels on the rug in the middle of the room “I'll pick one and then you pick one. I'm first” He took a red racing ferrari “Your turn”

“I like....this one” Sansa chose a shiny black one that had a glitter finish, but Robin cried out.

“No, you can't have that one! I wanted that one!”

She dropped it back “Ok....how about this one? Can I have this one?” she took a lime green coloured....she didn't know what it was. She didn't know cars.

Robin didn't say anything but he didn't look happy “....wouldn't you rather have...this one?” he picked up a little blue one that was scratched so much half the paint had come off.

“....sure”

They messed around with it for hours, having 'races' across the hard wood floors and along the kitchen bench, building the track so they could loop them around, before Sansa heard the slamming of the front door downstairs.

Lysa was back, was her first thought, but it ended up being Petyr that walked into the kitchen.

“Sansa, Hello. How are you?” he said, and she wondered if he was surprised to see her.

“Hi” she turned around in her chair “Good, thanks. I'm here babysitting Robin”

“I guessed, It's all he could talk about the past few days....has he been behaving?”

Sansa nodded as Petyr shrugged his coat off and hung it on the back of a kitchen stool.

“Yes, he's been good” irritating but good.

“Petyr, look at the drawings I did!” Robin snatched up the pieces of paper and stumbled around Petyr's legs, holding them up for him to see as he tried grabbing a mug from a kitchen cabinet.

“Ah, yes, very good....and you did these all by yourself?”

“Yes”

“Well, aren't you talented” Petyr said, but he caught Sansa's eye as he said it. She smiled. He'd said it to be nice but she felt a little embarassed that he'd seen that awful turtle drawing. 

“Put them up on the fridge! Where are your magnets?” Robin asked.

“I don't have any fridge magnets” Petyr said as he fiddled around with the coffee machine “Sorry, did you want a coffee Sansa?”

“But Mummy always puts my drawings on the fridge, so guests can see them!” 

“I don't have magnets and I don't have guests” Petyr said quickly “Sansa?”

“Ah, no, sorry. It's a bit late for coffee, it'll keep me up” 

And she didn't want to look childish asking for three sugars to sweeten it with.

“That it will, exactly why I need it. Have you ever considered running your own business, Sansa?”

“I...no?”

Petyr smiled “Good. Don't. You won't have a minute of free time”

“You run your own business? I thought you worked with my Dad?”

“I do. I work with a lot of businessmen and a lot of different companies. Has he not told you what I do?”

“No. I just thought you were some kind of accountant, maybe”

Petyr made a face “Oh, please, I hope I don't come off as dull as that”

She laughed and shook her head “No, I just...it was just a guess. I saw all your math books and Dad's mentioned stuff about being confused about all the numbers you talk about in meetings before”

The corner of Petyr's mouth twitched upwards at that “Has he now?”

“But can't we buy some magnets?” Robin nagged, interrupting them.

Petyr tried to stop him grabbing his blazer with crayon marked hands “No, stop asking....My fridge isn't magnetic. They wouldn't stick anyway” 

“What do you mean it's not magnetic?” 

“I bought it from China. They don't make magnetic fridges in China”

“But why don't they make magnetic fridges in China? Why would you buy your fridge from China in the first place?”

“Magnetism is against their religion” Petyr muttered, the coffee machine beginning to whir.

“And China makes the best fridges....didn't you know that Robin?” Sansa added in, making them both look up.

“Oh....yeah, I did know that” Robin said, wandering back over to the table.

Sansa had to stifle a laugh as Petyr shared a smile with her.

For the next couple of hours Petyr drifted off to his little makeshift home office downstairs, and Sansa had to get Robins dinner ready. She steamed the vegetables for as long as the instructions said too, and put the pasta on the stove and cut clices of ham and some bread on another plate. It seemed a very odd and plain meal, Lysa had said something about Robin being a fussy eater, but it was easy enough to make so she wasn't complaining. Robin had settled down to watch some TV as she cooked.

Lysa arrived back home just as she was handing the plate of dinner to Robin.

“Helloo!” she called out in the hall downstairs. Sansa quickly threw a tea towel across a railing and shoved a few things back in the fridge as she heard her come up the stairs, trying to make the kitchen as neat as possible.

Lysa appeared with a few shopping bags hanging off her arms, and Sansa was about to greet her back, but her Aunt's eyes fell on Robin immediately.

“You're letting him eat in front of the TV?!” she said, obviously appalled.

“I...he said you usually let him-”

But Lysa wasn't listening “Robin, up at the table immediately. Turn that TV off” she turned to Sansa “I don't know what Cat lets you kids do in your house but here we eat at the table”

“But he said-” Sansa tried to argue, but Lysa cut her off.

“He said, did he? Robin...did you tell Sansa to let you have your dinner in front of the TV?”

Robin scraped out a chair to the dining table and sat up on it, blinking innocently as he chewed a mouthful of pasta “....No”

Sansa spent the next half an hour cleaning up the rest of the kitchen feeling vaguely shamed, as Lysa made a point to read aloud from the notes she'd left, where it did in fact say where Robin should eat, and that she shouldn't expect a little boy to lie for her mistakes. Sansa had to bite her tongue as she filled the dishwasher.

When the intercom buzzed with the arrival of Jon downstairs, which meant he was here to pick her up, Sansa was glad to be leaving. 

Lysa had done another one eighty in her mood as she kissed her cheek goodbye, saying how now she'll definitely know for sure what to do next time she babysits. The she'd given her a little tap on the nose and added that she might not uncercook the vegetables next time either, and laughed like that was a cute little Auntie thing to say.

She didn't care if her Mother got cross with her, Sansa didn't want to do this again, she thought as she descended the steps to the reception hall. Lysa didn't feel the need to walk her out apparantly.

“Sansa”

She turned around at the sound of Petyr's voice, her hand on the front door.

He'd come from down the hall, his blazer and tie off, and his work shirts sleeves rolled more comfortably on his arms.

“Yes?”

He came over and took her hand, and Sansa was a little taken a back as she felt him press something into her palm.

She looked down to see it was a fifty pound note.

“Payment for a job well done” he said, quietly.

“Mr. Baelish, I can't-” Sansa tried to give it back but Petyr waved his hand.

“Just take it...and call me Petyr...you did a good job today, you deserve it”

“But my Mum told Aunt Lysa I'd do it for free”

“Do Lysa and your Mother need to know?”

Sansa glanced down at the note, tempted, but unsure.

“Honestly-” Petyr leant forward to speak lowly “If you hadn't of been here that boy would have been in my office, clambering over my desk, my paperwork, begging to have a go on my computer.... I wouldn't have gotten a shred of work done. This is just to show my own gratitude”

The intercome buzzed again. She really needed to go.

She slipped the note in her bag.

“Thank you Mr. Baelish, really, you didn't need to but...thank you” she smiled genuinely.

Maybe she wouldn't mind babysitting again afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a business person, but I've been reading up on the subject (which means a few thorough hours of googling) to try and flesh out Petyr's job. Basically he's a Hedge fund manager, and these guys have a reputation for being sleazy sleazes. They're also complicated, risky and secretive because its pretty hard to figure out just HOW they make they're money. They're also known to make a lot a lot a LOT of money if handled by people who know what they're doing. Stupid money. The highest ranking hedge fund managers in the world bring in billions. I've not made Petyr quite that successful, but even average hedge fund managers make it into the millions quite easily with the nature of the business. So yeah, people basically assume these guys are really intelligent, but also most likely corrupt....so I thought it fit Petyr perfectly!
> 
> I hope you don't mind that the Sana/ Petyr interaction was quite small this chapter. Right now of course Sansa only see's him as her Aunt's new husband, not anything more....yet.


	9. Sleepover

It was eleven PM on a Saturday night and Sansa couldn't have been happier with how her birthday sleepover had been going so far.

Myrcella had arrived first, and had bought her one of those instant film cameras and a cute little case to carry it around in, as well as a sterling silver tiffanies bracelet, which was from Joffrey. Sansa had been a little put out that Joffrey hadn't given her the gift himself, but she didn't mind so much after Margaery arrived with Sara and Mira, and all three of them had gushed over the piece of jewellery. 

Margaery had gotten her a bottle of Marc Jacobs daisy dream perfume, a pretty little blue bottle covered in flowers, as well as a little teddy bear and a box of chocolates. Mira had gotten her a diary set and a nice pack of gel pens, while Sara had gotten her the new Taylor Swift CD. Sansa didn't even own a CD player, even if she did like Taylor Swift, but she thanked Sara anyway.

The landing had been cleared, with the sofa's pressed up against the wall to make way for the spare mattresses to be laid down, where the girls huddled up under blankets to watch movies, eating pop corn and the mini cupcakes Sansa had made with her Mum earlier. 

Arya had made herself scarce, holing herself up in her room. Bran did the same, since he never liked conversations with new people, because they almost always asked about his wheelchair. The girls had all fussed over Rickon and how cute he was, but he had gone to bed a lot earlier. Her parents hung around downstairs until ten thirty before they'd said their goodnights, leaving strict instructions that the TV was to be kept down low and then lights out at midnight.

They were halfway through watching Pitch Perfect when Jon had come home from work.

He worked at some twenty four hour coffee shop in Dalston, The Night's Watch, and he worked late and always came home smelling like ground up coffee beans.

Arya always loved going there, thinking it was ultra cool, with band posters covering the walls and all its mismatched furniture, and all the guys that worked there had beards and wore a lot of black and jeans that were too tight for them. Sansa guessed it was supposed to be cool in that shabby chic, not really trying, Dalston kind of way, but she just thought it was dreary and they never played any music she liked. 

He'd walked up the stairs, skinny jeans as tight as ever, black apron balled up in his hand as he seemed surprised to see a bunch of teenage girls lying around in his house.

He'd mumbled a small hello before shuffling away down to his room.

“Was that your brother?” Sara whispered as soon as they heard his door shut.

Sansa decided that the easiest answer to this question was yes.

“He's fit!” Sara giggled, making Sansa pull a face.

Jon needed a hair cut and a shave and he never smiled. 

“What's his name again, Rob wasn't it?” Margaery asked, in a way that seemed like she was agreeing with Sara.

“No, Rob's the one away at Uni, that's Jon, and oh my god, I can't believe you think he's fit!” Sansa said.

“What? You just think he isn't because your related, he so is. Long hair on guys is so gorg” Maragery grinned.

“Should I tell him you think that?”

“Don't!” Margaery gave her a shove “Or I'll tell Loras you fancy him!”

Sansa gasped “You would never!”

She'd only met him once, the one time she'd gone over to Margaery's after school. She was so lucky, since her brother was older and going to Uni here in london, and Margaery stayed with him so it was just the two of them alone in a posh suite of one of their families hotels, and Loras had only just been coming out of the shower when the girls had come through the front door.

“You have a thing for Loras?” Mira asked.

“You should have seen her when he came walking through the living room in just a towel, still wet, she went so red!” Margaery laughed as Sansa tried to smother her with a pillow, both of them giggling. Sansa could feel herself going a little pink right now. 

“I did not!” she quickly denied, silently begging that Myrcella wouldn't repeat a word of this back to Joffrey.

“I wouldn't mind seeing your brother Jon in a towel, or whats under it” Sara joked.

“Urgh, don't” Said Sansa, not wanting to think anything like that about Jon of all people.

“Has he got a girlfriend?”

“You cannot be seriously asking me this” 

Sara shrugged “Why not? If he hasn't he might not mind me slipping in his room and introducing myself”

Sansa's eyes widened as the other girls giggled.

“Sara! My Mum and Dad are just down the hall and you just...you shouldn't just-”

“Oh calm down, Miss prude, I was only joking!”

Sansa shuffled a little on her pillow “I'm not a prude, it's just...he's my brother...and he has a girlfriend anyway, her names Ygritte”

“Oh” Sara shrugged “Well, it was worth asking”

Sansa wanted this topic to die, hoping they could go on watching the movie, even if she had seen it three times already.

“You're a virgin, aren't you Sansa?”

Sansa hadn't been expecting the question, and turned to Margaery a little shocked.

“What? Yes...., aren't you?”

Margaery smiled a small little smile “No”

Sansa vaguely remembered something her sister had said in passing. 'I heard she's done it with, like, five different guys'.

“Really? How many times have you done it?”

“Not loads! ….and I don't know how many times, exactly, but I've only gone the whole way with a couple different guys. And I was going out with them when we did it”

“You only went out with that band guy for, like, two weeks” Sara said.

“It counts”

Mira turned to Sansa next “So have you really not done anything? Not even with your boyfriend?”

Sansa thought about Joffrey and his hands sliding up her skirt.

“I've done some things” she said “Like...made out and felt each other up and stuff”

“Has he fingered you?”

Sansa's lip curled at Sara's blunt words “No, nothing like that”

“Called it, I had you pegged as a total virgin”

Well, I had you pegged as a bit of a slut, but it's like I'd bring that up at your party, Sansa thought as Sara stuffed more popcorn in her mouth.

“Wow, you're so innocent” Mira said, not meanly at all “That's good of you though, I feel like a bit of a slut sometimes” she giggled

“Oh, don't Mira, you're not” Margaery assured her friend.

“Well...there was that time you sucked that guy off at Abby's party in the bathroom, that was pretty slutty” Sara laughed as Mira pushed her.

“You guys, Myrcella's only fifteen, you shouldn't talk about these kind of things” Sansa said, sensibly.

She didn't want quiet little Myrcella going back to Cersei and telling her all about how her friends give out blowjobs at parties.

“It's alright....I've done it before”

Sansa looked over in shock at Myrcella, who was blushing underneath her smile.

“What? With who!” she had to ask.

“My boyfriend....Trystane....he's my secret boyfriend though, please don't tell my Mum or Joffrey, I'm only telling you”

Sansa was thoroughly embarrassed. She was the only one out of all of them who hadn't done anything. Joffrey hadn't even seen her without her top on. 

“I think it's sweet you're still a virgin” said Margaery “You should only do it when your ready”

“Definitely” Mira agreed.

Their words maybe have been kind but they still made the now seventeen Sansa feel about five years old.

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The bronzed skin girl clad in only a thong made of pearls and black lace writhed on the low stage at the centre of the room, her body shining under the Mockingbirds lights as she was down on her knees, running a hand down her taught stomach, slipping a hand under the lace, body thrusting on the air as she touched herself for the whole room to see.

Petyr's cock twitched in his pants, but it was no great reaction. She wasn't spectacular. Her mouth hung open in what he guessed was supposed to be ecstasy, but he found she just looked slack jawed, and from this angle he could see her teeth were slightly crooked. He looked down to her hands and saw her black nail polish was chipped. He'd have to talk to her about that. He didn't like it when his girls looked low class.

The other customers seemed happy enough with her though. It was common, up here on the top floor, for a more close up kind of show that patrons could indulge in.

Petyr spotted one man in particular, staring intently as the girl touched herself, pretending to have a shameful orgasm. Perhaps he'd go over and introduce the two properly, and mention an hourly rate, and the nice rooms he had available upstairs.

The girl went on for entirely too long. She wasn't supposed to be realistic about the time it took to get herself off, just a bit of rubbing, a nice suck of a wet finger, some moaning and be done with it.

He checked the time on his watch. He'd told Lysa he was staying back late at work, which wasn't a lie.

She knew all about the club, everyone did, even Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. Half the men he met in board rooms gladly shook his hand at the entrance to his club as well as in meetings, and it was an unspoken but known fact that you could barter for a fuck in the upstairs rooms. Petyr might worry more, about his secret that was hardly a secret, if there weren't several high ranking police officers and court magistrates in his pocket.

So Lysa had to know. Wether her mind accepted it was another matter. His little wife had a way of seeing the world as she wanted it to be.

In the end Petyr hadn't needed to whisper anything in anyones ear, as the girl climbed off the stage as she was done and sauntered over to the wide eyed customer, talking to him for the briefest of minutes, before she had him led away by the hand.

Good girl, Petyr thought. She had sense, even if her teeth were slightly crooked and her nails unsightly. She could probably get away with charging quite a bit, the man looked too green and eager to know any better on the rates of escorts.

They were never whores, never prostitutes. It was always escorts. Whores were women in clubs out in Essex, with earrings that dangled too much and smiles too eager. Prostitutes were girls on the cold pavement with even colder looks as they leant in your car window.

But Escorts? Escorts were glamourous. Escorts wore fine lace and real pearls, and they were paid enough to make their smiles look real enough too.

It was all the same though. The same cheap thrills, just catered for those with expensive taste. A pretty word to wrap up an ugly truth.

It was a little hypocritical, to find these men who paid for sex so pathetic, but Petyr did it anyway. Where was their pride? What sense of satisfaction did they get knowing they'd paid a women to pretend to love them for an hour?

Maybe it was because he'd been in the business too long, watched a girl leave a room with cum still stained on her dress before she removed it to meet the next man not twenty minutes later.

True, he indulged himself more when he was younger, before he realised it was wiser not too. Men asked him how he could be here, surrounded by gorgeous women and all the sex and debauchery and not partake, not indulge himself the very thing he was selling. He would simply smile and ask if they fucked their accountants, their brokers, the interns that fetched them their coffee. If they didn't fuck their workers, why would he fuck his? It was bad business. 

He hadn't dated much either, before Lysa. It was time consuming, and more often than not, disappointing. Women could be stylish, beautiful, witty, well read, well educated and all together charming....but Petyr knew what it was like to love, to have you heart beat a little faster at the thought of someone, and no matter the women he went through, the feeling had never quite been replicated.

Maybe that was wishful thinking. An unrealistic expectation. Maybe that was something you only felt once in your life, before a heartbreak, or when you were young and didn't know any better.

No, the most relief he had these days were the flashes of red hair in his dreams, the blue eyes he saw when he closed his own. A vague recollection of what he'd lost but had never really had in the first place. 

Petyr stared down at the amber liquid of his drink, which was almost all gone.

Funny, he'd had that dream again a couple nights ago, but the red hair had been a shade or two lighter than it had been before.


	10. So Adorable

Sansa looked up from her science text book as Margaery slid into the chair next to her “Busy Friday night?” she asked with a grin.

“No?”

“Good, Loras is having a party, all his Uni mates and stuff, and he said I could invite some people”

Sansa found herself grinning back “Nice, of course I'll go. Who else are you asking?” 

“Oh, you know, just the girls. You, Sara, Mira...and you could bring Joffrey if you want”

“Yeah, definitely. Should I bring a present?” Sansa asked.

Margaery gave her a look “No? Why would you bring a present? It's not a birthday party, it's just a party party” she laughed.

“Oh, right, yeah. Sorry” Sansa could have kicked herself. So much for giving off the impression that she went to loads of 'party parties' “Will there be, like...alcohol there and stuff?”

Margaery smiled “You're literally so adorable some times. Yes, mostly people bring their own but it all ends up on the one table, so it's practically communal, and there'll be punch, but Loras makes that stuff strong, so watch how much you have....oh, that is if you do drink of course?”

Sansa laughed “Yeah, I drink”

She didn't, but it's not as if this wasn't a chance to start. And she had had sips of her parents wine before, So it wasn't really lying.

“Oh, and it's a dresses and heels kind of thing. Feel free to dress up”

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On thursday night Sansa sat up hemming the dress she planned to wear for the party.

Asking her Mum for a new dress was out of the question. No doubt that conversation would go the same way as asking for a new bag. The first plan, wearing something she already owned, had ended up with every dress in her wardrobe tried on and discarded. Everything was pastel. Sansa loved her pale pinks and periwinkle blues, but they were so adorably virginal, and not the kind of shade you wore to a party full of university students.

No, Sansa decided she needed something black, but the only black items she owned were a cardigan, some dress pants, and an old dress she'd found in an oxfam shop for two pounds and had worn once for halloween when she was twelve.

So she'd decided to grab some scissors and her new sewing machine and make that two pound dress as sexy as she could.

It had spaghetti straps and a square neckline, and to her delight when she'd wriggled into it, Sansa found it had tightened on her since the last time she'd worn it. It was probably something to do with actually acquiring some hips and boobs since then. 

Then it had simply been the task of cutting the full length skirt scandalously short. She'd marked the material with sewing chalk before carefully cutting all the way around, and just as she was done, Sansa had the idea to add in a little slit to the side. If she was going to do sexy, she might as well do it properly. Before she could even talk herself out of it, she snipped the scissors and made the cut.

When all her sewing was done and the moment of truth arrived, trying it on, Sansa stared at herself in the mirror.

Well, it certainly was short. When Sansa stepped into her heels, her long legs made the hemline look even shorter. The slit up the side was maybe a bit too much, she worried, since it stopped just a couple of inches shy of her knickers. She tried posing a bit though, pretending she was Cersei, or some other top model, quirking out a hip, running a hand through her hair. She thought she rather looked quite good.

“Sansa?”

Sansa was jolted out of admiring herself with a rap on her door, and her Fathers voice.

“Can I come in?”

“Just a second, I'm changing!” Sansa called out, wrenching the dress down and off, flinging it in the back of her cupboard with the rest of the scrapped material. If either of her parents saw her in something like that she doubted they'd ever let her leave the house again.

She pulled on an old nightie. It was baggy and old and had a tartan teddybear on it. Back to adorably virginal in a heartbeat.

“Ok, it's alright” she said, as Ned made his way in.

Sansa thought her Dad always looked anxious when he walked in her room, the few times he did. It was like he didn't know what to make of all the pink, and floral, and makeup scattered everywhere. He smiled and patted his arms at his sides a bit awkwardly before sitting himself down on the edge of her bed, where Sansa settled herself across from him.

“So...uh, you been alright then?”

Sansa shrugged “Yeah? Why?”

“Oh, no reason, just wanting to know what you've been up too....you still excited about this party then?”

She didn't let her eyes flick over to the closet where her dress was hiding “Yeah”

“And you sure you don't want me to come and pick you up?”

“I already said Joffrey offered to drive me home”

“And you made sure he knew he has to have you back by eleven thirty?” 

“Can't you please make it twelve?” Sansa whined.

“Eleven thirty” Ned said sternly “And he won't be drinking, will he?”

“No, there won't even be alcohol at the party, Mira's parents are going to be there”

“Mira...I thought you said this was Sara's party?”

Sansa mentally cursed herself “yeah, sorry, I meant to say Mira. I still get their names mixed up sometimes, they sound similar”

“Right...well” Ned coughed a little “I also wanted to ask how the babysitting is going. You've been over there a few times now”

Sansa just shrugged again “It's been fine. Robin can be a pain but...you know. Cute as well”

She'd almost said 'but at least I'm getting paid' before she remembered her parents didn't know about that. One slip up was bad enough, she didn't need another.

“And...well. How's your Aunt and Mr. Baelish been?”

Sansa found something off in her Dad's manner “.....fine? Why?”

“I mean...me and your Mother just want to make sure its a good...um...atmosphere for you to be in, you know. With how Lysa is and how Baelish...ah, Mr.Baelish...well...you don't know him but we hope he's nice to you too”

Sansa laughed a little “The atmosphere? It's fine Dad, really. Lysa's a bit crazy, but she's not home when I'm there, obviously. And Mr. Baelish is nice”she narrowed her eyes a little “Do you and Mum just want details about how their marriage is going?”

“What? No. No, that's not it at all” Ned gave a little scoff but Sansa felt like she was right.

“Well, if they start having domestics in front of me I'll tell you both right away. You'll know all the gossip” she smiled, cheekily.

Ned shook his head but laughed “Right then. Well, I'll say goodnight to yeh” He gave her a kiss on the head before heading to the door.

Sansa watched him stop as he opened it to leave. He paused for a second, looking like he was debating in his head over what he was about to say next

“...You said your Aunt Lysa wasn't home with you much...but Mr.Baelish, is he out too?”

“Most of the time, yeah” Sansa answered simply.

“Most of the time?”

“Well....he gets back from work quite early some days. Then he usually just hangs around in his office or whatever”

Ned nodded “Right....does he speak to you much”

“Yeah, of course, he always says hi and has a bit of chat. He's not rude to me or anything, don't worry ” 

“That's not what I'm worried about love..” he muttered.

“What?” Sansa frowned.

It was then that she remembered what her Mother had said on the balcony all those weeks ago 'Does she know what he does? What he really does?' and all of a sudden it kind of clicked into understanding, that her parents didn't really seem to like Mr. Baelish much.

“I...nothing. Don't worry” Ned sighed “Just....if you ever feel uncomfortable over there, wether it's Lysa, or Baelish, or if you just get sick of the whole babysitting thing, you can come and tell me and you won't have to do it anymore, alright? Don't worry about your Mother, I can talk her into letting you out of it if you wanted”

Sansa didn't quite know what to make of how serious her Dad sounded “Um, thanks, but It's fine. I like doing it, really” she tried to sound reassuring.

Ned gave one last nod before he stepped out to the landing “Well.. that's good. Night sweetheart”

“Night” she said, still a little off-put as the door clicked shut behind him.


	11. Eiffel Tower

Sansa sat on the carpet with Robin, three different Lego sets spread out in front of them. Large boxes that hadn't even been opened yet.

“I have a lot more back at home in our old house, but Mummy said I'd have to leave them there for now. Petyr brought me these to play with though. This ones a Star Wars one, this ones a police station and this ones the Eiffel tower”

The Eiffel tower came in a more fancy looking box. It looked more like a collectors kind of lego, not one for nine year olds.

“Which one shall we do then? You can choose”

Robin acted like he was thinking hard over it.

“Hmmmm....the Eiffel tower one. I already had a police station one at home and it's not that good, and Star War's isn't for girls” he explained. Sansa thought Arya would have something to say to that, but as usual just nodded along.

They spilled out all the little grey pieces on the table and got to work. Robin rushed through it, sticking pieces where they shouldn't go, while Sansa tried to figure out the instructions and actually build it properly.

Petyr and Lysa were out at dinner, and wouldn't be back till eight, but that was alright. Joffrey had said he would pick her up at eight thirty so they would get to Loras's party at nine. Sansa thought that was a bit late to get to a party, but Joffrey had assured her party's were all boring before nine o'clock anyway.

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Petyr checked his watch. Eight thirty. He was bored-

“-and then I said, 'I shouldn't need the receipt, clearly the seam is broken, so It's a faulty product and I should be entitled to a refund' but this girl, ugh, she was just being such a pain, going on and on about how the tags couldn't be re-moved, thirty day warranty periods, so I ended up talking to the manager-”

-and trying to resist the urge to drown himself in the large ornate fish tank in the centre of the restaurant.

He'd met with Lysa when he'd finished work, after she'd been in town shopping, and now this was what she called a date night. She kept rubbing a foot against his leg. He kept checking his watch.

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Sansa checked the time on her phone. It was quarter past eight and Joffrey had already texted that he was on his way, but Petyr and Lysa weren't back yet.

“Sansaaaaaa I want another glass of water” She heard the pitter patter of Robins footsteps as he wandered down the stairs out of bed again.

“No, you know you're only allowed one” she got up to usher him back. 

“But I'm thiirssttyyyyy” he whined. 

He still had a bit of a bed wetting problem, and one glass of water and no more was the rule. There was what you could consider an entire chapter in Lysa's typed notes on bed time rules, but strangely Sansa thought they're could be more. Or at least some helpful hints. It had been an hour of struggling to get him to brush his teeth, digging out his dinosaur print pyjamas from the laundry room because he'd cried when she'd tried to get him in the polka dot ones, then reading him three different stories because he'd kept nagging for more until she'd clued in that this was just a stalling tactic. Oh, and he'd cried because she'd forgotten to turn his night light on before she switched the lights off. Now it was the water drama and the fact that he just would not lie his head on that pillow for more than two minutes.

“Sansaaaa pleeeease” he cried, clinging to her school skirt as she tried to pry him off and get him back down to his bedroom.

“Robin, stop it, would you just-” but she stopped when she heard the front door open, and the sounds of Petyr and Lysa arriving back.

“Mummy!” Robin cried immediately, running for the door, where Lysa dropped in surprise to hug him as he ran into her arms.

Sansa stood there, biting her lip as Lysa soothed him before turning on her, as she thought she might “Why isn't he in bed yet, I said seven thirty?”

“I'm sorry, he just won't go to sleep, he won't stop asking for water-” she hurried to say, but Robin cut her off with a shout.

“I'm thirsty!”

Lysa ran a hand through his hair “Ok, ok, you can have some water, don't work yourself up before bed time. We'll go to the kitchen now and get a nice glass of water and then you'll go to bed for Mummy, won't you?” 

Sansa stared incredulously as Lysa walked past her to the stairs “But I thought you said-”

“Just...don't worry about it, I've got it” Lysa smiled a little tightly, Robin cuddled placidly in her arms.

She wanted to roll her eyes, scoff, something, but Petyr was still here. 

“He wasn't too much trouble, was he?” he asked.

If Sansa was in a better mood she would have lied, but her response now was just to give Petyr a look and a strained smile of suffering. It obviously said it all, and he laughed.

“Ah, don't worry about it, it's not easy to get the boy to bed, and honestly if you'd done it successfully on your first try it probably would have annoyed Lysa more” he leant it a little closer “I think she's getting a little jealous over how much he talks about you when your out”

That made Sansa smile. 

“Did you need a lift home?” Petyr asked her.

“Oh, thank you, but I'm actually getting picked up by my boyfriend and oh, I need to get changed really quick, he's going to be here in a few minutes” she panicked, looking at the time “Could I just use the bathroom really quick?”

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Of course she had a boyfriend.She was a beautiful girl, probably popular at her school. Sansa was probably one of those girls who breezed through the halls with no idea just how many boys eyes followed her as she went by, just like Cat had been.

He stared across the room and saw a fully constructed Lego Eiffel tower that sat on the dining room table. He remembered buying it at Hamleys for Robin. Sansa must have spent the day building it with him. Even little Robin was taken with her, because he hadn't lied when he'd said the boy spoke about her constantly. 'Sansa's so cool' 'Sansa draws the best' 'Sansa's so pretty'.

Isn't she just, Petyr thought to himself.

The fact that she had a boyfriend shouldn't irk him, but here he was, feeling irked. A completely unreasonable response, and one that he didn't want to analyse right now. 

He'd followed Lysa and Robin up to the kitchen, and he opened the fridge, feeling like this was a good time for a glass of wine.

“Ooh, pour me one” Lysa said, as she had Robin sitting up on the counter, sucking away on his sippy cup of water. If Petyr was more invested in his role of step-parent he would suggest the boy was too old for it, but as it was he didn't much care.

“Of course” he grabbed an extra glass and poured.

“I'll be back in a second, I just have to get Robin down, since we've had our water, and we're ready for bed now, aren't we Robin?” Lysa cooed at Robin, talking more to him than Petyr as she picked him up and carried him back down the hall.

Petyr nodded, taking a drink. A Marlborough from New Zealand. He never bought English wines, terrible stuff, it was always imported. 

The he heard the sound of heels on wood, and Sansa emerged from the stairs.

His eyes immediately travelled to the hem line of her black dress, and the slit up the side. It fit her well. Too well. The addition of heels made her already long legs look even longer. Along with the makeup, the black lining around her clear blue eyes, and the slightly darker than usual gloss of her lips, the whole ensemble made her look older than her seventeen years. At least that's what he told himself as he couldn't stop staring.

“Well...you look nice” he said.

She smiled, perhaps a little uncomfortably as she cast her eyes downwards “Thank you” she said, walking over to the kitchen counter to sit up on one of the high stools.

That's when Petyr had to stop looking, as she perched herself up on the seat, and the dress slid up an extra inch before she could tug it back down again. He had to drag his eyes away after he saw the flash of white cotton between her legs.

“Would you like some?” He offered the wine, simply for something to say.

Sansa fixed him with a look “Sorry, I'm not eighteen”

I'm sorry your not eighteen too, was the first thought that came to his head, but thankfully he kept that from falling from his mouth.

“So of course that means you don't drink, and of course you'll only be having water at this party of yours, hm?” he said, knowingly.

Sansa tried hard not to look guilty, but her silent smile was enough.

“I'll have a sip then. Not much, just to taste it”

Petyr slid Lysa's glass over to her and she raised the glass to her lips. Her face soured immediately “Um, yeah, that's nice” she put the glass back down and Petyr laughed.

“You're a bad liar, but don't worry, hardly anyone likes their first class of wine” 

Sansa ran her tongue around her mouth, reminiscing on the fruity but bitterness of the drink “People say it's an acquired taste”

“Too true” Petyr nodded “I find wine gets better with age. The older I get the more I like it”

He made her laugh and he found himself loving the way it sounded.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Oh, that'll be Joffrey” Sansa said, sliding off the chair and grabbing her bags.

“Joffrey?” Petyr asked as they descended the stairs together. He knew a Joffrey, and not many boys had the name “Does your boyfriend happen to be Joffrey Baratheon by any chance?”

Sansa looked up at him in surprise “Yes? Do you know him?” then she realised “Oh, you work for his Dad too, don't you!”

Petyr nodded, trying not to look grim at the thought of this lovely girl getting into a car with Joffrey Baratheon.

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Petyr was back upstairs not soon after Sansa had left, having just finished his wine, and thinking he might just have another, when he heard Lysa's voice.

“Now that she's gone and Robin's asleep...should we get back to our date night?”

She was standing there, eyes glinting in the dull light of the kitchen, which Petyr realised was not dull enough as he turned around and saw her. For a second he thought she was naked, but it was just a nude coloured chemise she had on, but that didn't make it much better. It didn't cover enough....not nearly enough. It was too tight across her low hanging chest, the sides of her arms spilling out in a way that was sickeningly similar to the way raw cookie dough escaped the Pilsbury packet if you squeezed too hard. Petyr wished a slow death to whichever sales assistant had convinced Lysa she looked good in it.

“You....look....wow”

Lysa looked pleased with herself, shimmying about, and oh god she was coming closer.

“You like it?” she said in a little sing song voice.

“Mmmhmm” Petyr grinned with his mouth clamped shut, lest a grimace come out.

She sidled over and slid her arms around his middle, drawing him into a kiss.

“Come on...do me....Oh, do me Petyr, do me hard!”

Right. It was happening. Time to prepare the proper procedure. To the bedroom, lights off, and a secret stiff drink of whiskey while Lysa wasn't looking. He would need more than one glass of wine for this.

“Why don't you meet me in the bedroom and I'll be down in a minute” he purred into her ear, eyeing the liquor shelf.

Then Lysa pulled away and backed herself onto the dining table, pushing Robin's lego eiffel tower to the edge to give herself room to shimmy her bottom onto it, splaying herself out, never breaking eye contact.

“Oh, but why don't you do me here? Take me right here, right now!”

Petyr stood there.

“....the bed would probably be a bit more comfortable-”

“I don't need to be comfortable, I want you to ravish me! Hard and fast, have your way with me against the table!”

Petyr didn't have a chance to argue the point as he was promptly grabbed by the front of his shirt and pulled down onto her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight, while her hands clamoured around the back of his head as their lips crashed together.

Petyr tried to brace himself with his hands on the hard wood, but she barely let him budge an inch as she suctioned him too her, every part of her body pushing onto him. It was like she was a python and he was the prey, and if it wasn't already like a Discovery channel attack, she latched onto his neck with a proper chomp of her teeth. It wasn't a seductive nibble, it was a bite that made Petyr let out an actual hiss of pain.

Lysa giggled. She probably mistook it for a sound of pleasure. Petyr was sure she'd never heard a real one from a man before, he doubted she would know the difference.

Fuck, he needed that whisky. 

He grit his teeth as he forced his hand down her thigh, eyes closed, and suddenly found himself thinking of that tight dress of Sansa's.

Yes. Yes, that's what he'd do. Think of her, and her long hair and long legs. That tight dress, and that pert bum. He'd fuck his wife while thinking of her attractive young niece. No one would know but him, and desperate times called for desperate measures. And it wasn't hard to let his mind wander back to that flash of white cotton and what lay underneath.

“Oh, yes, yes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, god, fuck me, yes, fuck me, fuck me!”

Jesus christ, he hadn't even gotten his fly undone. 

Then she started moaning. Deep, guttural moans. He was still only stroking her leg.

It was getting harder and harder to...well....get hard. With this one woman show wriggling beneath him, trying to take home the Oscar for best over actor, and the fact that her voice was completely ruining the already thin fantasy that she was actually Sansa.

He supposed that was a lost cause anyway. Sansa's body was taut, not flabby, and her skin would be smoother. He could picture her, strewn out over the table before him, long bare legs open to him, breasts firm and high as she leant back, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. Yes, he could picture her, but he couldn't hear any imaginary gasps, or the smell of her hair, or the sounds she'd make when he touched her. That was all Lysa right now.

As she bucked her hips against his in a frantic need for friction, Petyr glanced across the table. Robin's lego Eiffel Tower sat there, a foot away.

In one last desperate bid, Petyr struck out his hand.

The Eiffel Tower went off the edge and to the floor with a crash, hundreds and hundreds of little lego blocks splaying across the floor.

Lysa stopped her assault on his crotch, to look up a little in surprise, and Petyr took the chance to wriggle a little more free of her as soon as her grip loosened.

“Oh, shit” Petyr spoke loudly “I broke Robin's Eiffel tower”

“I....oh, he's going to be upset....but no, never mind, leave it for the morning, it's ok, it's fine, let's keep going-” 

Lysa cling desperately to the moment but they both heard the creak of a door , and the fast thumps of little feet.

Petyr had never been more glad to see Robin appear before him.

His eyes immediately falling on the pile of grey Lego's on the floor.

“My tower!” he cried, the tears welling up thick and fast “You broke it, you broke it, you broke my towweeeer!!” 

It was a loud and whining sob that only turned into flat out, unfiltered balling.

Lysa was off the table and over to him at once, but it was no use. Once the boy turned it on, there was no turning it off.

He was inconsolable for the next forty five minutes, screaming at Lysa as she suggested they could rebuild it tomorrow, screaming even harder when she said she'd take him to Hamley's tomorrow to make up for it, where he could buy all the lego's he wanted. It was no use, he wailed against her and hiccupped and sobbed, and by the time she actually got him into bed, it was safe to say the mood had throughly been killed.

Maybe another night, Petyr had told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure that wasn't the sex scene you wanted, but it's the one you got. Sorry not sorry.


	12. Tattoos

Sansa adored the idea of living in a hotel, especially one as glamorous as the Highgarden. It was so huge and luxurious, with old french style furniture and bespoke marble floors, and the entranceway had the grandest chandelier she'd ever seen. There were indoor pools and ball rooms, a cafe on the ground floor and a five star restaurant on the top, and grand staircases that would be perfect to sweep down in an elegant evening dress. And Margaery and Loras got to live here.

They had a penthouse on one of the highest floors, and as of right now, the place was full of loud university students. She liked the idea of hanging out with an older crowd.The conversation might be a bit more substantial than the ones she sat through in homeroom, with boys going on about their games on X-box or showing each other rude youtube videos on their phones. Not that she'd ha much chance to talk to anyone older yet, as Sansa sat on one of the sofas with Margaery, Mira, Sara and Joffrey. They'd kept themselves tucked away in their own little corner.

She was perched quite primly on the edge of the cushions, since Sansa knew if she leant back and relaxed her dress was likely to rise up dangerously. 

“-and I was thinking I'd get, like, a lion up here” Joffrey said, gesturing across his shoulder “My Granddad would go mental but it's not like he can stop me, it's my body, it's my life, he can't like...control me or some shit”

“Yeah, completely. You're over eighteen, you can do what you want” Margaery said, deep in conversation with him. 

Margaery was wearing a green Ellie Sab dress from last years spring season. Margaery hadn't mentioned that, as she never bragged about her labels of course, she was never that tacky. Sansa just recognised it from her spring collection magazines.

“I love tattoos” Sara interjected herself into the conversation “Guys just look better with tattoos I reckon”

Sara's dress was designer too but it didn't fit her right. The halter neckline did nothing for her wide shoulders.

“I'd be scared it hurt though. My cousin got one on her ribcage and she said she cried the whole way through” Mira said.

Mira was wearing an Alexaner Wang dress. It was pretty but plain. Rather like Mira herself.

Sansa realised she hadn't spoken in awhile, and that she really should at least try and join the conversation instead of analysing peoples clothes. It was just that she hated tattoos. Nine times out of ten they were tacky, or strange or just didn't suit the person who had decided to permanently graffiti over themselves for whatever reason they wanted to justify it as a good idea with.

Jon had a tattoo, a white wolf on his arm. Sansa thought it was alright as far as tattoos went, mostly as it did match Jon's kind of grungy underground look he was going for. She knew Robb's friend Theon had one too, a squid on his chest, but you weren't allowed to call it a squid since it was actually a kraken, which is apparently very different. It really did just look like a squid though. 

Arya wanted one, but that was because she just liked to copy Jon whenever she could. 

“And it would be all like it had just killed something, you know?Blood all over it's mouth and fangs and stuff” Joffrey continued.

“Oh, yeah, that would look so good...because of your Mum's family colours? Red on the fangs, gold on the lion?”

A look of realisation crossed Joffreys face “...yeah. Yeah. I know, wicked, right?”

“SO wicked” Margaery gushed.

Sansa's brow furrowed “Do lions have fangs? I thought that was just snakes?” 

Joffrey gave her a look “Of course they're fangs, they're pointed. All pointy teeth are called fangs, that's what the word means”

“But what about sharks? They have pointy teeth and you never hear anyone call them fangs” 

“But that's different! They're fish, they're not even in the same category. Don't be stupid”

Sansa frowned “I'm not being stupid, I'm just saying-”

“You told me you only got 45% on your last biology test so I don't think you should tell me anything about animals or whatever the fuck they're teeth are called, since you're not exactly a fucking expert” Joffrey snapped.

There was a stiff silence as Sansa sat there, wide eyed and embarrassed. She looked towards her friends and they're gazes all shifted awkwardly away. Except for Margaery.

“I've been thinking about getting a tattoo when I turn eighteen” She said, smiling over the tension.

“Really? What would you get?” Joffrey asked, turning back around from Sansa.

“Well, I'm not completely sure, I just have a few ideas” she placed her fingers on her hips bones over the fabric of her dress “I was thinking maybe a pair of roses, little ones, just here”

Joffrey nodded, staring at her hips “Yeah, I reckon that would look good”

Margaery tried to look modest as she shrugged “But I don't know thought. It's a little cliche”

“Yeah, but...like, It'd suit you though”

Sansa watched the exchange between her best friend and her boyfriend silently, until she felt a tap on her arm from Mira.

“Can you come to the toilet with me? I need to pee”

Sansa saw the meaningful look in her eye and suddenly felt bad about thinking of Mira as plain. She was glad to whisk away with her to the safety of a locked bathroom.

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Sansa was leant against the hall wall, opposite the bathroom door. She tried valiantly to have another sip of her drink, since she was still carrying it around ever since Joffrey had handed it to her when she arrived. It didn't taste very nice and she was barely half way through it. It supposedly had a lot of vodka or gin in it, but that just made it taste horribly sharp, with a faint note of washed thin pineapple juice.

In that second Sansa felt all her mothers talks about peer pressure flooding her brain. She shouldn't pretend to be someone she wasn't. She shouldn't drink to impress people. Friends who don't respect who you are aren't real friends. Make your own choices. All those messages they made sure to include in at least five episodes of every tween targeted TV show on disney channel.

Sansa spotted a pot plant down the end of the hall. She had a quick glance around before going over to pour the remains of her drink quickly into the soil. She wouldn't force herself to drink it, Sansa could keep some sense of morality and still impress everyone with a simple lie if anyone asked. Had she enjoyed the punch? Yes, very good, I've had three glasses and my head feels a bit light. She was sure it wouldn't be hard.

She supposed her mother would have something to say about lying to impress people too, but you can't have everything.

Sansa shuffled herself out of the way in the hall as people moved past her without a word. A girl whipped her head around briefly to give her the once over, and Sansa gave her dress another tug down. 

She was starting to regret the choice of attire, in truth, as it felt much more baring in public. It felt like everyone was glancing at how short it was, boys leering, girls judging. Throughout the night she kept discreetly running a hand over her bum, just to make sure it was still covering her. Honestly, she had started to feel self conscious about it as soon as she'd changed back at the apartment, with Petyr looking her over. He hadn't said anything, besides that stiff 'you look nice' which had sounded strained in a way that Sansa thought he might have wanted to say something else. She'd half worried he would tell her to go and change, that he would strictly tell her that he wouldn't let her leave the house in that. He'd tell her to take it off immediately, or worse, keep her in it and then drive all the way to her house, and frog march her up to the front door to face her parents.

Thankfully he hadn't though.

She heard the flush and Mira appeared from the bathroom.

“You need to go?” she asked.

“No, I'll just check my hair real quick” Sansa said, ducking in to use the mirror.

Mira hovered by the door “So...that was a bit rude of Joffrey before, talking to you like that”

Sansa didn't look her in the eye “It's alright, It's not important”

“He just sounded so annoyed all of a sudden, like it came out of nowhere. Is he like that often?”

Sansa shrugged “Only when I say something stupid”

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Sansa and Mira walked back through the party, and as they made their way past the balcony they could see Loras. He was chatting idly with his friends, a cigarette in his hands. Sansa could help but watch the way he held it, between two long fingers, drawing it up to his lips and inhaling slowly, his cheek bones highlighted by the way he sucked inwards. He made it look delicate and almost obscene. It made Sansa think of how an old hollywood starlet might do it, but somehow it suited him.

She had a mad desire to try it.

Thinking reasonably, she would never smoke. It smelt bad. It stained your skin and your teeth. It killed you and she'd never met a smoker who didn't want to quit, but still just looking at Loras now he exuded something. It drew the eye, you could feel it on him, whatever this undefinable thing was. Maragery had it too. A kind of charm, a charisma, that made them followed and not followers. 

“Oi, you ready to leave?”

Sansa looked up in surprise. Joffrey was suddenly besides her, having searched her out. She noticed he already had his jacket on.

“What?” Sansa checked the time on her phone “But it's only ten, I don't need to be back for another hour?”

“Yeah, well, this party sucks anyway. Loras's friends are all a bunch of queers, theres a fucking mob of them in the kitchen, they're making me sick” 

“They're not queers, they're his friends from the lacrosse team” Sansa chided.

“Yeah, like lacrosse isn't the gayest sport” Joffrey scoffed “Come on, lets go”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took awhile to get up. I like to plan my stories scene by scene from a rough outline, so sometimes I jump forward and write these scenes out of order, so I've been working on stuff that happens later on down the track. So again, sorry for the lateness, but this means the next chapter is already half written and will be up in the next few days : )


	13. Backseat

Sansa sat in begrudged silence as she sat in in the front seat of Joffrey's car as they drove back to her house. She hoped Margaery hadn't thought her rude leaving so soon. She'd barely had a chance to say goodbye, or have a talk with Loras, or meet anyone knew.

She didn't say anything but she tried to show her annoyance by pouting a little and looking forlornly out the window. It wasn't the greatest party, but considering this was the first proper one she'd been to in London, she would have liked to have stayed as long as she could have. 

If her silent treatment was working, it didn't show. Joffrey was nodding along to his music, a constant stream of rap tracks Sansa couldn't stand. It was all American stuff, talking about capping people on the streets of LA or whatever. The hard street life. She shot a look at Joffrey as she caught him mouthing along to some of the words. What would you know about the hard street life, you have a nanny that still clips your nails for you, Sansa thought. Plus he had a bunch of McDonalds wrappers lying around the back seat and she was tempted to tell him how bad it smelt, just because she was annoyed.

“You looked really good tonight, by the way” Joffrey said, breaking the silence “That dress is really sexy on you”

Sansa stopped the little ranting stream of thoughts, a small smile slipping onto her face despite herself.

“Thank you” she said, feeling slightly bad that she had been about to snap at him. 

The car continued to twist and turn around the roads of Knightsbridge, but as Sansa stared out the window, none of the houses looked familiar. 

“You do know they way to my house, don't you?” she asked.

Joffrey was suspiciously silent but a little grin stretched over his face “Thought we'd take a detour”

“What do you mean?” Sansa laughed. She hoped he wasn't planning on stopping off at McDonalds or anything, she hated the stuff.

He rolled the car into a spot by the side of a park. It was deserted except for them and Sansa frowned as he turned off the engine.

“Why are we at a park?” Sansa asked the question, but even she knew he wasn't planning on getting out and having a go on the swings.

“Just a chance to be alone” Joffrey muttered.

He didn't bother to say much more as he leant in towards her, and Sansa breathed, knowing what this was. 

This is why he wanted to leave early, she thought, his hand already on her knee. A part of her only felt more irritated, but then again she was glad he hadn't tried to get her into a darkened room of Margaery and Loras's place. Having a snog in someone else's bed was just rude.

He drew her to him and she kissed back. It was awkward, leaning across the gear stick and twisting around in the front seat. Then Sansa realised she should probably take off her seatbelt.

She opened her mouth dutifully as she felt Joffrey's tongue press against her lips. She wasn't very into it, not after tonight, but once she got started she was sure she would be fine. She didn't want to turn him down.

She remembered her first kiss with Joffrey. The butterflies in her stomach, hidden in a secret part of the Baratheon's garden while the rest of the family were having afternoon tea inside, sitting down with him on the grass with that intoxicating feeling of a crush where you were sure they liked you but your heart sped up at the thought of the 'will we or won't we'. It had just ended up happening when there was that pause in conversation, and that look, and the sheer elation when he had leant in and confirmed that yes, he liked her. She was pretty and special and he'd been thinking of her like she'd thought of him, doodled his name on her textbooks, imagined how her name sounded with Baratheon at the end of it, maybe he'd done all those things too, because he liked her and everything was wonderful.

She also remembered thinking that kisses were much more wet than she had ever thought they would be, but back then that hadn't been important.

Now it felt like it was all she could focus on. The wetness of Joffreys tongue as he pushed it further into her mouth, ran it along her teeth, dominating her mouth. She tried to remember how wonderful it had been before.

It wasn't long before Joffrey pulled away, but his mouth lingered close to her ear.

“Do you want to take this to the backseat?” he said lowly, and Sansa understood what he didn't need to say.

For a second she was blank.

Sex: her mind screamed at her.

That's what this was. What he wanted. Out of all the possibilities a backseat presented, she wanted nothing more than to stay right where she was.

“Um...alright” she found herself saying, thinking of no tactful way to decline.

And it was alright, yes, she thought. Surely it could just be more kissing. Maybe she would let him feel up her chest, maybe that would be enough. She would be fine with just that. There was no need to get ahead of herself.

It was an awkward transition out of the passenger seat and into the back. That break in the moment where she was out in the cool air, shivering in her dress, more from apprehension than anything. She could hear a dog barking over the back of someones fence in the distance as she checked that the streets were empty. What if someone walked past, caught them. Thought of her as some disgusting horny teenager? 

Sansa slid into the backseat as gracefully as she could while holding her dress down.

It was almost as soon as she closed the door that Joffrey was on top of her.

Sansa gave a muffled yelp as she was pressed back into the corner between the seat and the door, what must have been the buckle of a seatbelt jamming itself uncomfortably between her shoulder blades. Joffrey's mouth was on hers again and she tried to focus on that again. 

But his hands skirted around her thigh, and he didn't waste any time travelling up under her dress to grab at her ass. It was fine. This was fine. Then Sansa felt him try to push away the material of her knickers.

“Do you....I could take my top off?” she blurted out, wanting to re-direct him away from the spot between her legs. 

Joffrey pulled back, his hand stalling as he gave her a crooked smile “Hell yeah” 

Sansa thought of american movies. The baseball terms they always used. It always went first base, second base, third base, home run. Didn't it? She couldn't remember what base topless groping was but it had to be awhile before a home run. Surely Joffrey would know the steps, he couldn't jump over one. She'd just do this tonight, she told herself, this was fine, she was doing this and it was fine.

Joffrey leant off enough to give her room to slip the straps of her dress off her shoulders, dropping down around her waist. She wished she'd worn a nicer bra, she had on her only strapless one and it was that ugly faded beige colour. She tried to unclasp it as sexily as she could, which was hard when you were in a cramped european sports car, and your hands were shaking slightly.

When it finally came free Joffrey stared, his eyes taking in the curve of her bare breasts, mouth parting slightly. For a second she felt a flicker of confidence, capturing him like that. Then he grabbed at her, kneading and pushing at her right breast in slow circles. 

“Do you like that?” he whispered.

She should say yes, though she wondered if it was supposed to feel better than it did. It wasn't like the movies, Sansa thought. Where the women gasped in pleasure as her lover simply stroked her side. This wasn't doing much of anything. All she felt was how sweaty his palms were.

“Yes” she answered, and he took his fingers and pinched her nipple much too hard. So hard she cried out in surprise . She saw his mouth twitch up in a smile as he did it again.

She wanted to tell him to stop, that she didn't like that, but then he was already stroking down her stomach, his fingers curling around the fabric of her dress that pooled around her waist.

“Joffrey-” she tried to say, but in one haphazard move he had already plunged his hand between her legs and jabbed at her sharply with his fingers. Sansa gasped and tensed up, reaching her hands up to try and push at his chest but she didn't have the nerve to truly push him away. It hurt. It really, truly hurt as his fingers tried to push into her, and she tried to tighten her legs together to stop it, to squirm away. He was too forceful, too fast paced. He wasn't even truly going inside her, he wasn't low enough, but he kept jabbing.

“Joffrey, stop, stop, it hurts!” she cried out.

“It's meant to hurt the first time” he grunted, his pace not changing in the slightest, his breath ragged.

The first time. Her first time. No. No this couldn't be it. Not in the backseat of a car, not with empty McDonalds wrappers littered around her feet, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to feel loved and beautiful and sexy and all she felt right now was sore and slightly ill at how wrong it all was.

“No, just stop, I want you to stop! Please!” Sansa pleaded, kicking up her knee and trying to get him off her.

“It'll be fine!” Joffrey struggle with her, trying to force her knees back apart “It will feel good in a second”

“No! I don't want to, just get off!” Sansa yelled.

Then there was a quiet, and Joffrey hung over her, staring at her as she breathed hard, her hair mussed, half naked.

Sansa could feel the tension as he pulled away, sitting back on the other side of the seat. 

She was so glad to have the space between them.

She was so worried she'd upset him. 

“I'm....I'm just not ready” she stammered out.

“It's been months” He snapped at her, and she couldn't look at him.

“I'm sorry”

Her voice was small. Meek. She didn't want to speak at all.

They sat like that for awhile, Joffrey's scorn filling the car, everything about his body language, the way he ran a hand through his hair, was tight and restless. Like he could have lashed out. For all Sansa knew he might. She waited for him to say anything. To do anything.

“You know I could have fucked a lot of girls instead of you, right? Ones that don't fuck around and play these stupid games?” he seethed, his voice trembling just below being controlled.

Sansa didn't know what to say. She didn't know why he'd say that to her.

“I'm sorry” she repeated, voice even smaller than before.

He got out of the car and slammed the door behind him, walking around to the drivers seat, slamming the door again as he got back in.

Sansa wondered if she should do the same, but he started the car and reversed back out before she even had her dress back on.

She pulled up the straps quickly, pulling on her seatbelt, trying to make herself as small as possible as she felt her lip tremble with the effort of forcing back tears, suffocating in the silence as she was driven back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to all girls out there who have struggled through awkward first time fumblings, and sometimes sadly second, third and fourth times. Plus the occasional boy who still hasn't figured out what the hell he's doing down there even in his mid twenties, as they try to erotically assault you below the waist like a jackhammer trying to rip a hole through dry wall.


	14. Myranda

Sansa was running through knightsbridge. Well, not quite running. Speed walking with the odd skip and a double step that almost broke out into a light jog. She was jostling her purse, her heavy book bag and her sports bag, all while trying to check the time on her phone as she hurried past businessmen and ladies with prams travelling in packs, and all the other stupid slow walking people who couldn't get out of her way fast enough with their stupid briefcases and stupid babies.

Joffrey had broken up with her over facebook on saturday morning. He didn't even really message her, he just changed his relationship profile to single and she'd got the notification. Thirty eight people had liked it by the time she saw.

Pretty much all of her saturday and Sunday was spent in bed, crying. She'd gotten home after Joffrey had dropped her off, still wordlessly, and she was greeted by her dad and Jon, the only ones still up at that time, as they watched some quiz show on TV. Ned had turned his head around over the back of the couch and asked if she'd had a good time, and Sansa had let out a small “I'm fine” in a way that clearly indicated she was not fine, but in a typically male way, he obviously hadn't picked up on the nuanced difference. So she'd run upstairs and hid herself under the covers and was intent to stay their until someone came to check on her.

And since her dad had taken Bran and Rickon to watch Arya's football match the next morning, her mother was busy doing the shopping and Jon was out at work, no one had noticed her dramatic leave of absence until around four PM in the afternoon. 

The eventual reaction to her heartbreak and humiliation was underwhelming. Arya had actually laughed. Then Sansa had gotten in trouble for throwing a hello kitty alarm clock at her head, and it was all just so unfair.

Her teachers hadn't let her use any of this as any excuse for not doing any of her homework though, so she'd gotten in trouble in three different classes today, and she still had to do one essay, twenty maths questions and a chapter of english literature reading by tomorrow, which was going to be impossible since she had to babysit Robin, and as Sansa checked the time on her phone again,she realised she was probably going to get yelled at by Aunt Lysa for being half an hour late. It wasn't her fault her train got delayed and that everything was awful.

She was out of breath and sore, her bags jostling against her as she crossed the vast lobby of number one Hyde park, let in by the security guards who knew her face by now.

She spotted an elevator opening, a girl stepping into it ahead of her. Sansa doubted she'd hold it for her, so she sped up trying to make it in time.

She had only taken four steps when she felt her shoe slip, and with that instant feeling of dread and imbalance, she skidded forwards on the marble floor and went crashing down amongst her books and bags, barely saving herself by thrusting her hands out in time. The contents of her purse spilling across the lobby in all directions as she let out an embarrassingly strangled cry, followed by a stream of curses she never normally used.

“Wet floor, wet floor!” A Filipino cleaner cried out from across the lobby, in a case of too little too late.

For a second Sansa was down on her knees, which felt split from the impact of the hard floor, red faced and wanting to scream and cry and throw an utter tantrum, followed by laying down and not getting up until she was sure this horrible day was over. 

But instead she reached out to grab her purse, gathering up her scattered things.

The first thing she did was grab her phone. Which now sported a lovely spider web of cracks.

She really honestly was about to cry at that moment, just as a girl stepped over. The girl from the elevator.

“God, are you alright?” she asked, and Sansa looked up to her holding her lipgloss, which must have rolled all the way over to her.

“Yeah, I'm fine” Sansa said on instinct, her voice cracking a little as she made a grab for her compact, a couple of pens and a pack of tic tacs.

“I swear they use, like, a metric tonne of floor wax here. I stacked it once wearing five inch heels and nearly snapped my ankle”

Sansa smiled as the girl knelt down and started to help her pick up her things “Thanks” she said, embarrassed but grateful.

The girl was short and curvy, with a heavy chest in a low cut top, and thick brown hair curling around a kind face. Everything about her looked soft and inviting.

“Jeez, you'd think someone else might have come and offered a hand” The girl said, looking over Sansa's shoulder to one of the door men “Pretty girl in need of assistance? You'd think they'd jump at the chance”

Sansa laughed, her desire to cry leaving her.

“I'm Myranda” the girl smiled.

“I'm Sansa”

“You're Lysa's Arryn's ...niece, isn't it?” she asked while helping Sansa to her feet.

Sansa was taken back with surprise at the recognition “Uh, yeah. How did you know that?”

Myranda grabbed Sansa's sports bag up off the floor, slinging it over her own shoulders as she lead the way to the elevator “Recognised you. I was at the party when she popped the question to Petyr”

“Oh” Sansa felt bad for not recognising her “So, how do you know my Aunt?”

Myranda sniffed, pressing the floor buttons as the doors slid closed behind them “I don't really. Me and Dad have live on the floor below Petyr, have since before he even moved in, so we're kind of neighbours,. That's how we got invited”

“Ah. Cool” Sansa nodded.

She glanced up at the dial as they travelled past floors. Myranda didn't seem to like the silence though.

“So were you as surprised as everyone else when the whole proposal thing happened?”

Sansa shrugged “Bit surprised I guess. We didn't know about it beforehand, if that's what you mean”

“Right. Yeah, me and dad were, like, jaws to the floor shocked. I mean it felt like she'd barely moved in, even though I guess it has been months now, but still. I felt like I'd wandered onto the set of days of our lives or something” she laughed and Sansa found herself smiling too.

“Yeah, it did feel a bit mad” 

“And really, no offence to your Aunt, but I never thought Petyr was the marrying type. At least he never struck me that way”

Sansa's smile tightened a little. This Myranda was a very chatty girl, for someone she'd only just met “So you know Petyr well then?” 

“Yeah, I see him around the building, have a chat with him sometimes.Plus I have been to his club a bit. He got me a free table for my birthday last year with a limitless bar tab and it was amazing. Pays to be good to your neighbours” she laughed.

Sansa frowned. Club? Like, as in a proper nightclub kind of club? She had said 'his' hadn't she?

Then, truck by the sudden thought, Sansa pulled out her wallet from her bag, mind still buzzing. She searched through it to find that card she'd almost forgotten she had taken, shoved in among shopping loyalty cards and old receipts.

“The mockingbird?” she said out loud, a question more than a statement.

Myranda happened to glance down at the card, and her eyes widened and she let out an almost theatrical gasp “Oh my gosh, he gave you a VIP card?!”

The card was all but ripped from Sansa's hands as Myranda held it up in the light of the elevator, staring at it in awe.

“Oh my god, I'm so jealous .How'd you get it, did you ask for it? Did he just give it to you?”

Sansa let out an uncomfortable little shrug “Just, yeah. He gave it to me”

“And you don't have to pay anything? Like....nothing at all?” she stared, incredulously, like she knew she was lying.

“I....no?”

Myranda let out a yearning sigh “Wow, you're like...so lucky. I wish Petyr had married my aunt. I would kill for a mockingbird black VIP card. I once met a guy who had a silver one and that was impressive enough, but jeezus. I thought the black ones only went to like...people on the forbes lists”

Sansa stared down at the innocuous little card “So...there's two different types, is there?” 

She saw Myranda's little frown.

“I mean... he gave it to me, but I haven't actually been there yet. I don't even really know anything about it”

“Yeah, how old you actually?” Myranda asked suddenly, eyes flicking up and down Sansa's school uniform “Are you even eighteen yet?”

“I will be, in a few months” she said, in what was not really a lie, if you considered a few being twelve.

“Right. Well, anyway, yeah theres two different cards” Myranda seemed eager to explain “Silver ones are like, still VIP. You get advanced bookings on tables, you don't have to wait in line, I think you might be able to get special cocktails or something, I can't remember if that's the mockingbird or some other place, but whatever”

It was then that the elevator stopped at what must have been Myranda's floor, and the buxom girl handed back Sansa's sports bag along with the black VIP card

“And yeah, the black one is just, like....extra, extra VIP” she said hurriedly as she stepped out onto the landing “I'm a lot less sure about what exactly you get with it, I've just heard some things”

Sansa's curiosity peaked more than it already was “Like what?”

But she wasn't going to get a proper answer, Myranda was already leaving “You know what, I'll add you on facebook. Or you add me, Myranda Royce, R-O-Y-C-E, I'll message you about it” she called back over her shoulder with a wave “Nice meeting you, by the way! Say hi to Petyr for me!”

Sansa gave a small wave back, letting the doors shut with a ding.

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Sansa had to wait till Robin was asleep and in bed before she could start her homework, lest he run to Lysa and complained that she was ignoring him in favour of her maths text book. She'd already had an earful for being late, since god forbid Lysa be late to her book club.

She was laid out comfortably in the theatre room, with a wide plush sofa and a TV that was about three times bigger than any TV had the right to be. She'd been watching animal planet with Robin before he'd gone to bed, something about the great barrier reef. She still had it on in the background with the sound down low as she tried to read through a chapter of her lit book. The Hobbit.

She hated it. Her eyes scanned the pages but she wasn't taking it in. Why was this even considered a proper literature book to study? She didn't get it all. What was so great about some nerdy, fantasy story about about a bunch of hairy little men wandering around a world that didn't even exist? The other class got to do A midsummers nights dream, and Sansa desperately wished she could be doing that instead. She'd loved the movie.

She rolled onto her back, holding the paperback over her head, bored and frustrated and wishing any of these characters could have normal names that she could actually remember.

“Do you retain more information when you read it that way?”

Sansa almost dropped the book on her own face, startled as she craned her neck back to see Petyr as he stood there in the doorway. 

“Oh, hi” She sat up hastily, smoothing down her uniform “I thought Lysa said you weren't going to be back 'till late tonight?”

Sansa watched him wander into the room and take a seat on the arm of the sofa, his coat still hung over his arm “Mm, that was the plan. I was going to go from the office and straight out again, but I decided to come back here and have a quick shower beforehand. Freshen up”

“Where are you going out too?” she asked, but as soon as she said it she thought she knew the answer “Your club?” she tested “The Mockingbird?”

Petyr regarded her for a second and she tried to read his face. She was sure there was at least some surprise there.

“Yes, actually” he said, shortly.

Well, that wouldn't do at all. Sansa wanted more of a reaction than that.

“You never mentioned you had a club” she pressed.

Petyr gave a little wave of his hand “But yet you knew anyway?”

“Only because someone told me”

“And who was that?”

“A girl I met in the elevator today”

Petyr looked a little bemused.

“Myranda Royce”

“Oh, god. Of course” Petyr said with a touch of derision, which Sansa was perhaps a little glad to hear. She thought it odd how familiar Myranda seemed to be using his name, and she hadn't imagined they were truly great friends like she seemed to want to suggest.

“So why didn't you mention anything about owning a night club before? Why keep it a secret?” Sansa asked, stretching herself back along the couch, this time laying on her stomach so she could face him, propped up on her elbows, ready to interrogate.

“It was never a secret” He smirked “Is that why you looked like the cat who got the cream when you guessed where I was headed? You thought you'd stumbled on some horrible truth I never wanted you to know?” he teased.

“No, nothing like that” she lied “I just feel like....well, I'd think it was something worth mentioning”

“Well you never asked” he said, frustratingly flippant.

“But I did ask! When I wanted to know what you did, when you talked about all the finance stuff, you could have said something about it then”

“I could have, but if I remember right, you seemed to be asking me more about the context in which I worked with your father, and I can tell you that Ned Stark has never set foot in my club, so I saw no reason to mention it”

Sansa gave him a half smile “Don't be pedantic”

Petyr let out an easy laugh as he slid down off the arm of the chair into the actual seat, settling himself and getting more comfortable. Now there was little space between them, as Sansa lay there besides him.

“Maybe I didn't mention it precisely because of your dear old dad” he said “I wouldn't want to brag about my five star club, and it's huge range of top shelf liquor and it's hordes of seedy patrons, to his young and impressionable daughter, lest she get any idea about asking me to let her visit it” he slid his gaze down onto her and smile spread across Sansa's face.

“Hordes of seedy patrons?” she echoed playfully.

“The seediest” he said with a stern shake of his head and Sansa laughed.

“It's a bit of an odd mix of professions. Head of a financial company and head of a seedy nightclub. How do you manage both of them?”

“Richard Branson owns about four hundred different companies, so I'd hardly consider myself a mogul for simply having two” he muttered “Plus I have teams of people in both ventures, so it's hardly as if I'm running between my office to proofread business drafts myself before going to mix drinks behind a bar”

Sansa accepted that answer easily enough.

She wanted to ask more. How long he'd had it, where was it, what exactly was with the VIP cards, but Petyr spoke first.

“So, how was that party you went too?”

Sansa's smile left her. She wished he hadn't reminded her about the cause of her terrible mood from the past few days, she'd almost forgotten about it for a couple of hours.

“It was...fine” she said, distastefully, the memory of Joffrey's clammy hands and the smell of stale McDonalds coming back to her.

“Oh dear” Petyr smiled a little crookedly “Wasn't as fun as you'd hoped it would be?”

Sansa'a eyes flicked downwards, almost laughing as she picked at a nail “No...not it wasn't how I thought it was going to be at all”

“Ah, well” Petyr said after some time “I'm sure you'll already have an invite to another party before this next weekend. I'll probably have to get used to the sound of Joffreys Lamborghini roaring down the road outside, ready to pick you up and whisk you away every friday night”

Sansa scoffed “No need for that at all, actually. Joffrey dumped me” she said flatly.

For a second she was worried she made Petyr uncomfortable, since he went quite quiet, and Sansa wondered if she should assure him she wasn't going to burst into tears or anything, but then there the chime of a phone.

“Sorry. Have to take this” Petyr muttered, slipping his phone out from his jacket pocket “Baelish” he answered, using a different voice than the one Sansa was used too. More business like, more direct. None of that honeyed lilt he usually had.

“Yes, I told you I'd be there. I'm on my way....Yes. Ten minutes. I'm in the car now” he said, and Sansa stifled a smile as he shot a small wink at her at that “Yes....yes. Don't worry about it until I get there, we'll find someone to replace her, it's fine. Ros can do it I'm sure....well, then I'll pick her up and pay her overtime then, don't get frantic. I'll be there as soon as I can.....have a stiff drink to tide you over” 

That was the final words he said before hanging up, no proper polite goodbye uttered.

“Right” he said, pulling his coat back on as he stood up “So much for that shower. I need to fit in a thirty minute car ride into ten minutes” 

“Good luck with that” Sansa said, the bizarre desire to ask if she could go with him, the black VIP card and Myranda's words glittering in her mind as she watched him leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second season 5 trailer has me so hyped.
> 
> I'm so excited for the influx of new fic everyones going to be writing come the new season. I'm sure the new locations, every line of dialogue, basically every look between Petyr and Sansa will inspire us. I'm too keen. TOO KEEN.


	15. Sake

“Heres the message he sent me” Sansa passed Margaery her phone, both girls sitting up the back of the school library, while they were supposed to be finding books to reference “He sent it last night, around one in the morning”

“Nothing good comes from texting after midnight” Margaery muttered as she scrolled through the essay of a message from Joffrey.

Sansa waited patiently for her to finish.

“What do you think? Do you think he sounds legitimately sorry, or is he just saying it?”

Margaery scrunched up her mouth to the side, in that way that she did, eyes not leaving the screen.

“Even if he really does mean it,that still doesn't take back what he did....and if you're really not ready to do it with him, then you shouldn't let him pressure you” Margaery put a comforting hand on Sansa's above the table “If you want me to be truly honest....I think you're better off without him”

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It was saturday night and Petyr poured himself another dish of sake. A little ceramic dish. He wanted to ask the waitstaff for a glass, but that wasn't the done thing. Nor was asking for a set of functional cutlery. This was one of the more pretentious Japanese restaurants in the city, and his clients favourite, so he used his chopsticks, ate the raw fish, sipped from a little dish and didn't complain. Petyr liked to think himself well indoctrinated to the higher side of society at this point, but at times like this, when he wanted nothing more than a damn fork and a glass of Jameson, that he felt more working class than ever. 

But the dinner had gone well. The client had shook his hand, he had his deal, another man under his thumb. It hadn't been especially hard, considering he'd also brought a couple of his girls along. A brunette and a blonde, he didn't know what the client liked, so he'd chanced it with both. The old, dull man liked the blonde more, liked her hand on his leg as she topped up his own little ceramic dish. She'd ended up leaving with him. Petyr didn't know if the old man had deluded himself enough to think it was because of his own prowess, but either way Petyr would pay the girl for the trouble when he saw her next. The other girl was let go empty handed, told to be on time for her shift this evening. She wouldn't be reimbursed for this, but the way Petyr saw it she at least got a free expensive meal.

He'd just sent the waitress away to bring him the bill when someone sat themselves down at his table.

“Varys” he regarded the man “I'm sorry, but the meals over...here to pick at my scraps?”

Vary's smiled “Kind of you to offer, I see you barely touched your unagi kabayaki”

Petyr gave him a look.

“That means eel, and A pity it was wasted on you, it was so fresh today. ”

Varys was the head of his own independent magazine. That's what he liked to call it anyway. Everyone else on the London scene called it a gossip rag. Vary's couldn't boast that he had a good reputation, but he did have a somewhat feared one. If you had an affair with your secretary, a DUI, or a relic of a sex tape from the eighties, you could bet Vary's already knew about it.

“You came to talk to me about eel?”

“No, I came to talk about something far more interesting”

“My recent wedding?”

Vary's gave a little derisive scoff “Oh, of course when I say 'interesting' you immediately make the jump to yourself. But I suppose if you don't flatter yourself, who would?” he gestured to the sake “May I?”

Petyr pulled the bottle across the table “You may not” 

Vary's pulled a mock hurt expression “Are you still annoyed about that little article I wrote about you and your club, and the alleged cocaine fuelled romp in the VIP lounge that included those three members of parliament?”

“Only that it didn't make the front page. I would have hung it up on my wall” 

“I'm sure Lysa would love that, I could have gotten you a nice frame from your gift registry, if you had had a proper wedding of course”

“It was a proper wedding”

“Oh, yes, I'm sure you made it as legally binding as you could”

“Air tight” Petyr smiled.

There was a pause as a waitress came to clear the plates, and as soon as she was back out of earshot Vary's leant across the table.

“But speaking of marriage, just as you've entered your own...marital bliss ,if that's what we're going to call it, certain others are planning on leaving theirs” he said with a flair.

Petyr raised an eyebrow “Who's getting a divorce then?”

“Cersei and Robert Baratheon”

Petyr clucked his tongue “Interesting. Why? They've stayed together for twenty years despite being miserable, and letting everyone know it. Roberts fucked more girls than anyone can count and as long as Cersei can still afford her top shelf liquor and designer shoes, I don't see why she should start caring about it now?”

Varys gave a cool little shrug “It wasn't Cersei that wants the divorce”

Petyr looked vaguely surprised and Vary's continued.

“One of my little birds has told me that Robert may be planning on asking for DNA tests on those three darling children of his, and...well. You and I know where that's going to lead”

Petyr refrained from asking how he knew that. It was a pointless question. The man just knew things.

“Don't tell me Robert Baratheon finally put the pieces together?”

“Not all on his own at least, but I don't think I need to tell you who helped”

True, he didn't.

“So you don't know for sure that there is a divorce on the table yet?”

“Yet” Vary's said with some weight “I should think it would only be a matter of time. Once confronted, I can't imagine Cersei Lannister will be slow to act”

“The scandal would ruin her” Petyr said, a slow smile spreading across his face at the thought “It could mean exponential sales for you if you jump on it first. Cersei Lannister: Millionaire Heiress, ex supermodel, now a divorced Brotherfucker. If that doesn't make the front page, what will?”

Vary's chuckled darkly “If that doesn't get me in Tywin Lannisters firing line, what will. I rather like my life and I would prefer to stay in that mans good graces, thank you very much, even if it means ten consecutive stories on Kim Kardashians hair, rather than reporting on any real scandals”

Petyr tapped the end of a chopstick idly on the tabletop, brain whirring “Robert had always planned for Joffrey to take over the company when he retired” he mused out loud.

Varys waved a hand “Well, if you found out your son wasn't yours, would you keep grooming him to take your place, give him a business to run, any kind of connections, let alone keep him in any kind of inheritance at all?”

They let that question hang in the air as the waitress returned with the bill placed in the leather receipt holder, which Petyr didn't even bother checking, handing over his card.

The meal was paid and sorted for and the two men scraped back their chairs and pulled on their coats, escorting themselves from the restaurant. 

The London air was brisk, with Vary's and Petyr turning to face each other on the pavement.

“It's going to be an interesting year, if anything” Petyr said in the way of parting words.

“Mm, Yes, I'm sure it will be. I'll be seeing you when I see you” he nodded.

The two parted ways down the street, but it was not three deliberate seconds later that Vary's called back over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Petyr?” He said, making Petyr pause and turn to see an unsettling knowing smile on the mans face, one he'd seen many times and never liked “I'm glad to hear about your new babysitter. Good help is so hard to find these days”

 

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Petyr knew he did not feel guilt and shame in the same way most people do, if at all. 

The idea that his actions and behaviours and desires should be guided by morals he didn't believe in, and rules he didn't see the point of. 

He could vividly remember the nuns of Riverun telling him off for putting his feet up on the pews at mass. He was being disrespectful in the house of god, they had said, he should be ashamed. 

But he should he though? Even by the age of ten the notion seemed stupid. He doubted God, or Jesus, or the virgin mother mary would care about how he sat or where he put his feet. Of course he could reason that he should take his feet down and sit properly, simply because it would make his life easier and he could avoid the smack of a nuns ruler across his knuckles. Of course, if there hadn't been any nuns to see him, say if he was given an hour in that church alone, he would have put up his feet anywhere he liked. He might have torn pages out of a bible, he could have spat in the holy water, he could have stamped his feet up and down the place of worship singing rude songs as loud as his little boys voice could yell, and he would not have felt a lick of guilt nor shame.

He could remember all those school dinners, where he was forced to sit at the table until he had eaten every single scrap of food on his plate. Think of the starving african children, he was told. Think of all the effort the cooks went too to make this for you. Petyr would sit there resolutely as they tried to impart some sense of guilt and shame in to him, and he wondered if that ever worked on anyone else. It was not as if he could mail off his leftovers to some poor Ethiopian child in a third world country, and he doubted they would want a soggy, half eaten, yorkshire pudding anyway. And as far as the school cooks went, why should he feel bad about insulting them? They served awful food, they shouldn't be proud of it in the first place. 

No. Even at that age, guilt and shame has simply never registered within him. The only lessons those nuns and teachers really gave him was how to only put your feet up when no one was looking. How if you brought along a hanky to every meal, you could spit your Brussels sprouts into it and hide them in your pocket.

These lessons had followed him into adulthood.

If no one caught him embezzling money, he would continue to do it. If one of your clients accidentally over dosed in a hotel room with one of your workers, as long as both were disposed of at the end of the day, who's to say there was a problem?

Yes, Petyr understood that not eating your vegetables, and the disposing of bodies, were both things that should be frowned upon, but he'd been doing all manner of unsavoury and illegal things for years now and yet he still slept easy over his supposed sins.

Petyr supposed the closest he ever got to the feeling of guilt, was feeling bad over not feeling bad about things he knew he should feel bad about.

Like now for instance, as he sat in front of his computer screen, his hand wrapped around his cock, as he brought himself off to a picture of Sansa Stark.

She'd had her facebook account set to private, but there was a small gallery of profile pictures he could browse through, and there had been a particularly nice one of her posing quite coyly in front of her webcam, as teenage girls are prone to do.

Of course, objectively, he knew that masturbating to a picture of an underage girl, who was by law his niece, was morally wrong. Disgusting, even.

But as he quickened his pace, his body tensing, eyes closing as he leant his head back against his office chair, content to just imagine her as he felt his climax edging closer, thrusting into his own hand, Petyr knew he really, truly, didn't care.

He wanted Sansa. It didn't even phase him to admit it.

Most men would recoil in horror at the idea of fucking a seventeen year old girl. To even suggest such a thing was met with judgement, looks of disgust, as if the idea was truly that reprehensible. Take these same men and check their internet history and their porn habits. Every second video probably had the words 'teen babes: just eighteen' and 'barely legal' or the even less subtle '18 y old cum slut sits on black dick 4 the first time xxx horny teens.dot.org free download'.

It was as if society had created this magical line in the sand of sexual morality when it came to age. To fuck a seventeen year old girl just an hour before her birthday, and that was illegal. Wait that precious hour, and voila. You could take her any which way and not feel a shred of guilt, apparently.

Petyr was not in the habit of fucking teenage girls though, far from it. Most of the women he had been with had been around his age, with one even being older, and the youngest being mid twenties if he re-called correctly. The last time he'd bedded a teenager, he had been a teenager himself.

But as it was, he wasn't a man to limit himself. He was a man who had always been driven by what he wanted, and it was a mystery to him how people could squash their desires, for other reason than that they felt they should. Some inane notion of morality dictated peoples lives for no other reason than they let it. 

He let out a groan of release as he came.

It was not ten minutes later, after he had cleaned himself up, composed himself a little, that the phone rang.

He didn't need to say anything as he picked up, the voice on the other end wasting no time.

“Get to a TV. Turn on the news. Now”

Vary's, Petyr recognised the voice, just as the click of him hanging up sounded.

Petyr reached across his desk for a remote, turning on the TV that hung up on the wall of his home office.

“-traffic continues to build up on the London Westbound, between tower hill and upper thames street, due to the crash. Witnesses say that the white Mercedes was cut off by a speeding car, causing the vehicle to spin out of control and collide into oncoming traffic. Authorities are blaming wet weather conditions and are currently searching for any street security footage to locate the speeding car which caused the accident and left the scene. Emergency services arrived forty minutes ago to assist the victims of the collision, two of whom who we now have confirmation as being Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon, the two senior business executives of the Baratheon Banking company, but Ned Stark was pronounced dead at the scene, with Robert Baratheon succumbing to the injuries he sustained soon after-”

A red strip of teletext ran across the bottom of the TV screen that read 'breaking news', with the young reporter prattling on, the debris of mangled cars behind her, followed by the smiling portraits of the now deceased Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon flashing up on to the screen.

Petyr leant back in his chair. For a second he just took it all in. What this meant. 

But he didn't pause for long. Within minutes he was back at his computer. He had emails to send, people to call, plans to make. Things needed to be put in motion.

He hovered briefly over the red cross in the corner of the screen, as he had left it, looking in to the unblinking, pixelated, eyes of Sansa. 

Petyr only felt bad for not feeling bad over something he knew he should feel bad about.


	16. Fine Fine Fine

Petyr had expected a large turn out for Ned Stark and Robert Baratheons funeral, but the sheer numbers of people who had turned up to mourn the two men was still impressive.

It was a joint ceremony, and why not? The men had been so close, sharing a school, sharing a company and now they shared a death.

Lysa was outside. Robin had been fussing over something and she's had to take him out of the church, but Petyr sat up the back.

Catelyn and the rest of the Starks sat up in one of the first pews, all dressed in black, their faces tear stained but solemnly composed. The eldest had made the trip down in time, his face unreadable, but his fist was clutching the funeral program so hard. The littlest boy was sat in the lap of the one in the wheelchair, and the youngest girl kept wiping her nose and face with her sleeve. Sansa sat with her back as straight as an arrow, staring at the pastor as he made his sermon.

The press was outside, cameras snapping just outside the church gates. No doubt the arrival of the grieving family of five children and dedicated wife would make a touching cover photo for the papers tomorrow. They'd been having a field day with the story ever since the news broke. Petyr hadn't seen the media this hyped up over a car accident since Diana.

His eyes slid over to the other side of the church, another pew. Cercei's black dress was form fitting, and not a hair of hers was out of place as she sat with her three equally well dressed children and twin brother. He could spot her occasionally dab her eyes with a handkerchief, but not so badly that her mascara ran, and Petyr didn't know wether to respect her audacity to wear such a bold shade of red lipstick to her own husbands funeral, or chastise her for it. 

Cersei was never one for subtlety. She should be taking her cues from Cat, who hadn't worn a lick of makeup, dressed plainly, and looked every part the proper grieving widow. Except that wasn't an act on her part.

But he supposed it wasn't his problem how Cersei handled it. Honestly, the women had no subtlety. Robert's will left the entirety of his fortune to her, as well as all of his company assets. He was sure her idea was that she would head the company until Joffrey had finished his degree, but even then he was a twenty year old brat with all the charm of a feral chihuahua, and Cersei wasn't better. Petyr could only imagine how fast the shareholders and business partners were going to drop in the next year. Oh well. This was the bed she'd made and she could lie in it how she wanted. 

He wondered if she had at least given any thought to the future, when the media would no doubt start waxing lyrical about conspiracies, as they always did. Three business moguls dead from the same company in the last year. Three. Idiotic. How could she not see how that looked? 

The last thing he needed was this attracting any new attention on Jon Arryn's death.

 

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Sansa couldn't do this. The wake. The stuffy, beige room with ugly patterned carpet in the back of the church, with tiny crustless cucumber sandwiches and everyone standing around, chatting pleasantly, like there wasn't a cemetery right outside the window.

It wasn't enough. How was any of that meant to make it easier to say goodbye to her dad?

That's what funerals were meant to be. The final farewell Where you buried them and moved on. They'll live on in your memory and your heart?

Fuck that. 

Fuck that to hell, Sansa thought. Swearing it violently in her head. Over and over and over again she screamed it. Shrieked it, until she felt her lips tremble, the words almost falling from her lips, she wanted to let it out that badly.

This was nothing. It didn't matter how nice the white lilies were, what passages they read from the bible, how many people showed up, funerals were hollow. They were nothing more than a marker. A dot on a line, indicating where you had to start to get better. The time before the dot lasted for a week. A week since her fathers crash and that was the week she could grieve unapologetically. When people wouldn't hold it against her when she broke down in the middle of class as she heard the news. When she could curl up, wrapped around her younger brothers and sister in their mother's bed, none of them fit to sleep alone that night. When people forgave you for showering at four in the afternoon and forgetting to eat, letting you lie on the floor of your room, looking at nothing for hours because you were just so damn exhausted from crying. They let you have your grief.

Past that dot, once the week was over...past the funeral. That's when you had to let it go. The farewell wasn't for your loved one, it was for your own pain that had to be buried with them.

We've given you that time, that's what they were telling you. It's time to get on with it. Back to the real world, as changed as it is. The world will keep spinning and you have to get back on the ride, just like everybody else. 

From that point onwards, when people tilted their head to the side and asked you if you were ok, you had to respond with 'fine, thank you for asking', instead of smacking that look of uncomfortable pity off their face.

They didn't want to hear how she really felt, no body did. They didn't want to share her grief, and why would they? It was an awful thing, she wouldn't wish it on anyone. What If the next person to ask her, Sansa told them no? No she was not ok. Her dad was dead. The horrible finality off death had taken him, and now she would never hear him speak again, see his face, have him listen to her, see her grow, see what kind of life she would have. Everything from this point onwards went on without him. That was never going to be ok.

But that wasn't what they wanted to hear. It wasn't what she was expected to say.

Everything was fine, fine, fine. 

 

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Petyr was stood off to the side of the room, doing his best to avoid most chatter. He really did not need to hear another conversation about what a saint Ned Stark had been. What a good man he was. He discreetly flipped through his phone, checking messages, keeping in touch with Ros about the nights workers. Apparently a girls cat was ill and she was asking for the night off. Petyr was in the middle of texting back that he only cared about one pussy of hers, and that was the one that made him money, a joke he would have to remember to tell her in person, he was that proud of it, when Vary's appeared in his line of view.

“Texting at a funeral? Poor form” the bald man tutted, coming over to stand besides him.

“Honestly, it's bad enough you weasel your way into every celebutants party and club opening in town, but now you're crashing funerals? Show some respect for the dead” Petyr sniped back at him, pocketing the phone.

“Oh, you're one to talk. Is your idea of respect staring at the dead mans wife during most of the service?”

Petyr shot him a look but Vary's only looked pleased with himself “Oh, sorry. Was that me jumping to conclusions? It was just a guess that you were staring at dear old Catlyn, but for all I know you might have had your eyes fixed slightly to the right of her, at her sweet young daughter. Forgive me, I really should have asked first”

“I know you can't exactly get yourself off like most normal people do, what with your literal lack of balls these days, but do you have to get your jollies from irritating me twenty four seven?”

“Twenty four seven? I'm flattered you think of me so much, but really? A cancer joke, at a funeral, after you haven't exactly denied eyeing up an underage girl?”

“Don't look at me like it my fault you had to get your balls cut off”

“I'm not, this is a look of astonishment over the fact you walked into this church and you haven't burst into flames yet”

The whole time they had been talking Petyr had been scanning the room idly, until he caught sight of Catlyn moving off on her own towards the front foyer.

He knew as he excused himself that Vary's saw Cat leave too, so there was no need for pretending, as he got up a few moments later and followed her out.

“Cat” he called out as they were alone in the foyer of the church.

She turned in surprise “Petyr?” her voice sounded hoarse.

“Are you alright?” he asked. An earnest question.

He didn't get an earnest answer “Yes, yes, fine. Sorry, I just came out for a bit of air” 

“Of course, you should take as much time as you need...it's just, I was hoping to talk to you for a moment”

Cat sniffed “Well, thank you for the concern, but I don't know if I really...I just wanted to be alone for a moment, if that's alright-”

“I'll only take a second, and it is important. It's about you and the company, and Ned's assets-”

“Look, Petyr, I really don't want to discuss it with you here-”

“No but you need too” he stepped closer to her, his voice lowering “Before he died Ned bought a lot of stock, invested a lot of money, he owns thirty five percent of the company. Cat, you inherit all of that, just like Cersei with Roberts holdings-”

“I know, I know, it's all anyone wants to talk to me about this past week, but I don't....I don't understand all this business-”

“And I'm telling you that I want to help. I can tell you now Cersei only owns forty five percent of the company, which is a lot less than she thought she'd get. Has she approached you? Has Tywin Lannister?”

Petyr watched Cat's gaze flicker unsurely around her “Not yet...”

“They want those shares, Cat. They want the majority of the company, they don't want anyone else on that board, they're going to make an offer”

“I'm not selling to them, they're more valuable in our hands, I know that much”

“Cat...” Petyr pressed gently, his voice lowering further “If I were you, I would tread lightly around this. See what they'll give you, see that it's fair, and if it is, you should take it-”

Cat frowned “What? Why would I-”

“Because it's safer. I don't want to offend you, Cat, but you've been a housewife for the past twenty years, you're in over your head as a major shareholder of a billion dollar company, and these people are ruthless” he chanced a touch to her arm “Please. Get out of this game while you can, while you still have something to gain”

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Sansa had quite liked church when she was little. She liked wearing her sunday best and singing all the songs and lighting candles with everyone, even Arya, on their best behaviour. 

She sat in the empty hall of the church now, behind a table full of little alter candles that people had lit as they had arrived. They flickered above her as she hid on the cold stone floor, knees pulled up to her chest.

It had all gotten a bit much. 

She knew Jon had gone outside to sit the in the cemetery gardens, and Arya had of course gone after him. Bran and Rickon were very quiet, sitting by themselves, barely speaking to anyone while Rob, the eldest, and dutifully talked to everyone who offered their condolences. He was being the bravest, Sansa thought. She had tried to be like that.

Then her quiet little hiding place seemed discovered as she heard the sound of sharp heeled shoes echoing on the floor.

“Honestly, who are you to just...to just come up to me and start talking about all of this, which is none of your business!”

Her mothers voice. 

“Cat, please, just-”

“Do NOT touch me!”

Sansa sat back in total silence, unable to see, but she recognised Petyr's voice too. Her mother sounded furious, Petyr's pleading. Her mind raced as to why.

“I'm trying to help you, Cat, truly, I am”

“I don't believe that for a second! Why the hell should I take your advice out of the blue when I know you work with Tywin Lannister? I honestly don't know what your angle is coming to me like this-”

“There is no angle-”

“Like there wasn't an angle with you marrying Lysa? Did you truly do that out of the good of your heart?”

Sansa barely dared to breath as she tucked her legs tighter to her, out of sight. This didn't sound like something she should hear.

There was a long moment where no one spoke.

“.....I only want what's best for you” 

“Don't say that!”

“It's true, you know it is. You know I would never...not with you, Cat”

“Petyr, stop it”

Her voice cut through the hall of the church. Blunt and sharp.

After another dreadful moment of silence, Cat began to speak calmly and clearly, but with a seething tone lacing it.

“I don't want your help. I don't need it, I didn't ask for it. I'll deal with my own affairs....and frankly I don't think I want much to do with you in general. I don't care if your married to Lysa, there won't be any dinners, no invitations out, and I don't want Sansa going around to see Robin anymore”

Sansa's head jerked at the sound of her name. Why was she saying this? What had happened, where had this all come from?”

There wasn't another word, only the sounds of her mothers shoes on the hard concrete fading as she walked away.

The silence dragged on and Sansa wondered what Petyr was doing. She hadn't heard him move, but she didn't dare peek, in case she was spotted.

It was a long while before she finally heard his slow steps echo their way back out of the church and she was left alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was considering having Petyr catch Sansa in her hiding spot, but in the end I decided I liked it better if he didn't know she'd witnessed this exchange.
> 
> Also, I am no business major. I hope the talk about company shares at least sounds believable. Part of why this chapter is so late is because I've spent a lot of tim trying to research a somewhat logical way I could write about all of this. So I hope it's somewhat vaguely understandable and realistic enough. It's only background detail to the relationship stuff, really, so I hope your on board with just rolling with it, even if it is wrong.


	17. Suitcases

“But why can't we come too!” Arya cried angrily, as Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, biting at a hangnail, as their mother hurried around her room, packing a suitcase.

“Because I don't want to drag you out of school, you need to focus on-”

“But you're taking Bran and Rickon!”

“They're younger. They're not handling all...this, very well, and missing a couple weeks of primary school is hardly a big deal for them, but you have your GCSE's and Sansa has her A levels”

“So?! We can still study, we'll get catch up work from our teachers, we should come too!”

Cat threw a few toiletries into a bag, throwing them on top of her clothes “Arya, stop it. I'm not arguing the point, and it's hardly a fun holiday your missing out on. I'm going back down to sort out some of your fathers...affairs and business. There's a lot to sort out” she tried to wave it off, but Sansa could hear the stress behind her voice. Arya couldn't cotton on though. She never did with these type of things.

“And you're going to bury dad properly up there, I heard you on the phone. Don't you think we should be there for that?”

Cat sighed, tiredly “It's not....it's not going to be a big thing, Arya. The funeral was the send off, this is just taking his...remains where they should be buried. Alongside his brothers and sister, like he would have wanted. The plaque will be there for you to visit any time-”

The mentions of remains and plaques sombered the room, and Arya settled on the bed, quiet but still sullen, as Cat continued to pack.

“....I think I should at least get to stay with Jon”

Cat let out a humourless laugh “And let you stay in a run down apartment full of twenty-something year olds in the middle of Dalston? Not going to happen, get the idea out of your head right now”

Jon had left within days of their fathers death, and Arya was still hurting over that as well. Sansa herself hadn't exactly shared a teary goodbye with him, they'd never been close, but she'd overheard him with Arya and Bran. Jon thought it was best if he went to stay with his friends, and Sansa had to agree. Even now her mothers voice wasn't warm as she spoke about him.

“But why do we have to stay with Cersei though?”

“Because Cersei offered...it would have been rude to turn her down” Cat said, pointedly.

“What about Aunt Lysa, can't we stay with her instead? She's family and Sansa goes around all the time. It'd be like full time babysitting for free. I wouldn't even complain about Robin”

Sansa stopped chewing on her nail, intent on hearing exactly how her mother answered.

There was a tell tale pause that Sansa couldn't ignore.

“....It's not Lysa's house. It's Petyr's....I don't even know if he has room”

“Are you kidding? That apartment was massive-”

“Well, they haven't offered, so we won't intrude. Besides, they've just gotten married, they probably want the time and space to themselves”

Sansa remained silent but memories of her mothers voice echoed in her head. 'frankly I don't think I want much to do with you in general'

“But what if we asked? I'm sure Petyr wouldn't mind us staying, he's technically our uncle now so he'd probably be happy too-”

“Arya, stop it. It's already been arranged, you'll be staying with Cersei for the next couple of weeks, and it won't kill you” she said, a finality to her voice.

With one last groan of fifteen year old angst, Arya stormed out. They could hear stomp all the way down the hall until she slammed her own bedroom door behind her.

In truth, Sansa wanted to go with her mother and brothers too. She just knew that saying this was pointless. 

She still sat there while Cat zipped up her bags “Right. Done. Now I just have to pack Rickon's things...and check Bran's bags maybe. Make sure he has more than one pair of jeans in there”

She looked up at Sansa, a weak smile on her face. 

Sansa wasn't quite at the level of open rebellion as Arya, but she didn't exactly make an effort to smile back.

She let out another haggard sigh “Sansa....this is all very difficult for everyone”

“I know that” 

“You said yourself, after we visited their house for the first time, that you wanted a house like that when you were older”

“Yeah”

“Even if things are a bit awkward with Joffrey, you'll have Myrcella there”

“Mmm”

“Oh, Sansa don't. Not with the eyes, please” Cat came across to sit next to her on the bed, an arm around her “We'll be back in a few weeks....or maybe we won't even stay in London. I don't know, I haven't made any plans yet, but we came here for Ned's job and maybe....we might move back, sweetheart. It all depends. We'll see what happens”

Sansa leant in to her mother. She always wore the same Yves Saint Laurant perfume, she had done for years. Her father had kept buying it for her because it was the only one he knew for sure she liked.

'Im trying to help you Cat'

“Mum....are you sure your alright handling all of dad's business stuff? All on your own?”

Cat looked surprised to hear the question coming from her daughters mouth.

“Of course I am. I won't be doing it totally on my own. There are a lot of people back home who can help me, friends of your father”

“Like who?”

“Oh, you know. All the stuffy, old men who show up at our christmas parties. Rickard Karstark was one of the first to call when he heard about Ned, plus Wymen Manderly, Roose Bolton....they've all offered their help”

“What about Mr. Baelish?” Sansa tread lightly “He worked with dad”

There was no change in her mothers face that Sansa didn't take note of. Her lips thinned slightly, she blinked too much, paused that fraction too long.

“Yes, well...I wouldn't want to bother him. Like I said, he's just married, he's busy”

0o0o0o00oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o00o0o0

When Cat and the boys had gotten on the train back North with Robb, Sansa and Arya had been left with Cersei in the middle of a bustling St Pancras station, their own suitcases with them. 

Cersei was all smiles as she had them led through to the street, where the girls were ushered into a town car, a chauffeur putting their bags into the boot for them. The inside was all beige leather seats and lacquered wood. Arya kept playing with the electric windows, while Sansa sat, hands in her lap.

“We're going to have a lot of fun girls” Cersei had said, while Sansa couldn't stop staring at how her long nails, stiletto heels and lipstick all matched. A deep, blood red.

There was a guarded entrance to the street she lived on. Kensington palace gardens. Joffrey had told her it was the most exclusive street in London once, and Sansa could believe it.

There was a feeling of tasteful reserve, with large, three floored, detached houses with terraces balconies and manicured lawns. There was no graffiti, no rubbish. It was always so quiet here too, like the owners of these mini palaces could simply pay for the rest of London to quieten down for them. 

Sansa glanced out the window as they drove up but there weren't many people about, save for what looked like household staff. There was a man out the front of one house cleaning golf clubs, another man dressed in a waistcoat and ironed white shirt just to polish a door knob, and a woman walking three tiny dogs that were running rings around her ankles.

The house they stopped at was as opulent as it was intimidating. Four storeys high, two large chimneys either side, with ivy running over the red bricks. It half reminded Sansa of the house Madeline lived in, from the old books she used to have. She could almost picture Miss Clavel and her twelve little girls in two straight lines....if not for the giant carved lions perched before the front steps. They were so fierce looking, with bared stone teeth and nasty frowning eyes. Sansa didn't like them, and she couldn't imagine little parisian orphans liking them either.

As they walked in, their bags left to household staff, Sansa could still feel impressed by the home, despite visiting here numerous times before. There were five reception rooms, and the main one was almost too formal to step foot in, with its grand piano and huge stone fire place, plus ten bedrooms, three studies, a theatre room, two games rooms, two dining rooms an indoor pool and an outdoor one. Throw in the team of staff, and the fact that both of Cersei's brothers were living here at the moment, It was like staying at a hotel. 

“Ah! The Stark girls have arrived. Honoured guests in our humble abode” Came Tyrions voice, both girls glancing down, as he wandered into the hall to greet them.

Sansa always thought Tyrion spoke like he was in a play, or at least thought he was. She smiled politely since she never knew how to reply to him either.

Myrcella gave her a warm hug, a pretty smile on her face, though it looked sadder than usual. Sansa hugged her back, remembering that she had lost her father too. Tommen didn't hug her but he wore almost the same expression.

As their bags were ferried upstairs by maids, Sansa spotted Joffrey, slumped against the wall, arms folded. His expression was set firmly in a pouting glare at the floor, making sure to let everyone know he was miserable, with everyone politely pretended he wasn't being astoundingly rude.

Sansa tried giving him a smile but it wasn't returned. She hadn't returned his text after all, but then at the time she didn't know she would have to live with him.

Oo0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00

“I'm not staying here” Arya mumbled, both girl huddled up in the spare beds of one of the guest rooms “We should just leave”

Sansa rolled over to blink hazily at the alarm clock in the dark “Arya, it's past midnight, just go to sleep”

“Can't” came the blunt response.

“Try” came Sansa's even blunter response.

“You're obviously not asleep either”

“Well, I'm trying, so just shut up”

“Did I tell you Gendry's going back down on the train to Sheffield tomorrow?”

“Arya” Sansa groaned into her pillow.

“He always said he'd gotten some special grant to get into KL since he's never had to pay for it, but apparently the other week the school admin rang him about some change in payment plans or whatever, asking him for his bank details, because he had to pay thousands of pounds for next term. He doesn't even know why, he thought he was getting a full ride. Obviously he can't pay it, so now he has to go back home to his foster family”

“Yeah, well, good for him” Sansa muttered, barely listening.

“But I was thinking maybe we could go down on the train with him, he gets off at Sheffield, and we'll keep on till we're home”

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I hate Cersei! I hate Joffrey, and Myrcella and Tommen are annoying, even the midgets weird. This house is weird, they had three different forks set out on the table for dinner and they're all so stuck up and blond and horrible, and Cersei told me off for playing football in the garden, even though their gardens massive, and I only hit the pool house window once on accident!” Arya hissed under her breath.

“It's only for a couple of weeks” Sansa parroted her mother “And it'd be pointless anyway, all you'll do is make Mum mad, since you'll be ditching school, and she'll probably send us straight back here anyway”

“But if we made it all the way there she'd see how serious we are, and she wouldn't send us all the way back down. She'll be mad, but once we arrived, she'd just have to deal with it”

“Arya, stop it, don't be stupid”

“It's not stupid, I really think we should leave! I looked up train tickets already-”

“You what?”

“It's eighty pounds each-”

“And where are you going to get a hundred and sixty pounds, exactly?”

“I've already got fifty"

”Where'd you get that from?" Sansa frowned.

"I took some bets on an after school fight between hot pie and some senior lad. Hot pie threw the match, and we made a heap off it. Plus I found a fiver in a drain the other week and fished it out"

"Well, good to know my little sister's digging around in dirty street drains and running gambling rackets behind the bike sheds, but that's not even half of what you need" 

"Can't you chip in? Don't you have any birthday money left?"

“No, I spent it already"

"Already? god, you burn through money" Arya sighed.

Sansa tried ti look indignant, but remembered they were in the dark and there wasn't much point "Uncle Edmure was the only one who sent me cash, and it was only thirty anyway"

"So your broke then?"

Sansa thought of the money Petyr had given her, all the fifty pound notes that were rolled up in her old jewellery box.

"Yeah"

Arya huffed and Sansa could hear her slump down onto the mattress "Great then"

"Honestly, it was a stupid idea to begin with" Sansa said " Just be patient for once in your life"

There was a long silence.

“...We could try and pinch money from Cersei's purse?”

"Go to sleep, Arya" 

Another pause.

"....how'd you feel about hitch hiking?"

Sansa rolled over and ignored her, pulling up the covers.

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	18. Phonecalls

Arya only lasted another four days.

The day she had gone missing Sansa had waited by the school gate for her sister for forty five minutes before she started to worry. She'd checked the school oval to see if Arya was caught up playing football, she checked all the school toilets and the sick bay, as well as half the classrooms as they emptied and the only people left were cleaners and the odd lingering teacher.

Sansa remembered calling and calling on her phone, with her texts inbetween getting more frantic, and not getting any answer and thinking 'she's done it. She's really done it'.

When she'd arrived back at the house, she played innocent. When Cersei asked where Arya was, she'd said she'd gone over to her friends house for dinner. Gendry.

Cersei was angry over the fact that she hadn't thought to ask permission, and Sansa unfairly copped a half hour long lecture, but she stayed silent throughout. It was better than telling the truth, and potentially facing any panicked fury, where Cersei might blame her for not keeping an eye on her sister, or worse, she might call the police and make it a whole big thing, and Arya might get stopped on whatever train she'd hopped on and dragged back here, and then she'd be angry at her too.

No. No, Sansa decided it would be much easier for Arya to reach their mother first. the train would only take maybe three or four hours, and everyone would be exasperated that she'd do such a silly thing, but Arya had probably been right last night in thinking that Cat would most likely just deal with it, and call Cersei, and no one would have a need to worry.

Except maybe Sansa herself, since now she would be stuck here alone.

That night, she sat up in her room after dinner, glancing at the time at the corner of her laptop every so often. It was getting later and later. She'd tried to call Arya four seperate times.

It was half an hour later, at almost 9pm, when her phone vibrated with an incoming message from 'Horseface' flashing on the screen. Sansa lunged for it.

“Are you completed incapable of ever texting back!” she had to stop herself from shouting down the line.

“Yeah, hello to you too”

Sansa wanted to slap her sister through the phone.

“Where are you? Did you get on the train with that guy? Are you with mum? I told Cersei you were over your friends house for tea, and if you don't call back and say your safe with mum then they'll probably send out a search party or something. Why haven't you called!” she couldn't get the words out fast enough.

“My phone rat out of battery, I've only just found somewhere to charge it”

“And where's somewhere, where are you now?”

“OK, don't freak out-” her sister started, but that of course gave Sansa cause to freak out “I'm in Warwick”

“What!? What are you doing in Warwick?!” Sansa really did shout, before cursing as she glanced at the door. Lucky the Lannisters had such a big house, they probably didn't hear it.

“I got the prices wrong! I don't know what I looked at online, but it was wrong. When I actually tried to get the ticket home they said it was a hundred and forty pounds just for one”

“So you just got on a train to Warwick because it was the one you could afford?” Sansa said, trying to comprehend this line of thinking.

“No, not just because of that! Gendry says he has a mate here he can maybe borrow some money off of , and I'd pay him back”

“So you're with Gendry and his cousin now?”

“No, were still in Warwick station. I'm at a McDonalds, charging my phone” 

“Arya! You won't reach mum until three in the morning at this rate!”

“Um, no, we won't actually reach mum until at least tomorrow, probably. Gendry forgot his mates address, so he's trying to call him now and find out so we can try and find a bus that will get us there, and then we checked the train times and theres one we can catch tomorrow morning at ten-”

Sansa stared at the wall, almost transcending into a furious calm, baffled by her sister and her stupidly complicated plan“Arya, what the hell am I going to tell Cersei?”

“What do you sound so worried for? If you said I was at Gendry's, just tell them I decided to stay over the night, and stay for the weekend. There, that's a whole two other days covered”

“And if she doesn't believe that?”

“If she doesn't believe you, just put me on the phone and I'll lie to her myself. Like she even gives that much of a shit. On the off chance she does, I can always pull some old lady off the street to pretend to be Gendry's mum who says she's taking good care of me or something”

Sansa had to take a deep breath at that .Fine. Sure. Not my problem, whatever. Just do what you want, she wanted to say, but instead she asked “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

There was a brief pause “...McDonalds is open 24 hours”

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The next day, Sansa was seated in one of the lounge rooms with Myrcella and Tommen, some vet show on in the background that they liked watching. Myrcella had brought out her nail polishes, and sat up on the sofa with her hands held out to dry, her nails a lovely soft pink colour.

“-And my second favourite member of the Saturday's is defintely Una, while my third favourite is Frankie, even though usually I don't like short hair on girls, and I'd never get it done myself, but it just looks really good on her, so I don't mind it, and my fourth favourite is-”

Sansa wasn't really listening, she just mumbled along agreences every now and again. Myrcella was a lovely girl, but she could chat on for hours about nothing. Tommen sat across from Sansa at the coffee table since the two girls had convinced him to have his nails painted too. 

It was a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon.

“Where the fuck is my Ipod!?”

It was a shame Joffrey decided to make himself known.

Tommen, Myrcella and herself all shared looks as they heard him thunder down the hall.

Sansa noted how his siblings always seemed to shrink whenever Joffrey yelled. Whenever they could feel his mood, because it was very much a feelable thing. It just radiated off him like a warning, a boy set to erupt over anything, and Tommen and Myrcella would almost try and sink into the background, just hoping that today they wouldn't be a target.

Sansa never knew how much of a new insight you could have into someones life once you started living with them. His brother and sister seemed to fear him, the maids didn't make eye contact, hell, even his own mother didn't seem able to handle him. Sansa didn't think Cersei even tried, to be honest. He threw tantrums like a child, he did as he pleased, he swore and snarled, even at her....especially at her. He hadn't like being spurned, oviously, and over the past few days he had made it abundantly clear that he'd never really wanted her anyway. He didn't like girls with small boobs. He didn't want to fuck her, but he wouldn't mind seeing if she really did have ginger pubes, just for a laugh. At dinner last night he'd asked if anyone else could smell fish, and then told her to close her legs. He said it in front of anyone, and Cersei only tutted, and told him that those kind of jokes were innapropriate for the dinner table. Everyone else had pulled a Tommen and Myrcella, and kept quiet, staring down at their plates like they weren't there.

Sansa tried to tell herself that this had all just happened in the last few weeks. He had never been this person when she'd chosen him as her boyfriend.

But then she thought of the back seat of his car, and the way she realised he had always scoffed over things she had said, or when he'd called her stupid. He was right, she thought, she was stupid. All these things she'd managed to ignore.

“Have. You. Seen. my. Ipod!” he raged, as he entered the living room, staring them all down.

Sansa steeled herself to look up at him “No” she said very simply.

“Well, where the fuck is it then?” he snapped without pause “I've looked fucking everywhere, I had it half an hour ago”

His eyes and tone were acusing, and Sansa wished she could yell back at him, but all she could manage was a weak shrug and shake of her head “Can you remember where you saw it last-”

“If I knew where I saw it last, do you think I'd be fucking asking you?!”

She mumbled a no.

“You didn't take it?” he shot at her.

“What? No!”

And then he was pulling the cushions off the couches, pushing her roughly across the floor out of the way, looking under the table, tipping over her box of nail polishes.

“Joffrey, stop, we didn't take it!” Sansa cried, as she shuffled out of his way, pink nail polish now tipped and spilt over the carpet.

He threw a cushion across the room, in a useless display of anger “If I find out you took it because you think you're really funny, I'll fucking....I'll have mum move you into the fucking garden shed. You can live there instead”

As he stalked his way across to the door, he shot one last look back at Tommen, frowning at his nails “And don't let her paint your nails like you're some kind of faggot” he spat.

O0o0o00o00o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Joffrey ended up finding his Ipod in the front seat of his car the next day, but that was after he'd already thrown Sansa's own Ipod into the pool in an act of petty, and unwarrented, revenge.

There was no point telling Cersei, of course. Tyrion had sidled up to her quietly one evening and offered to buy her a new one when he caught wind of it all, but Sansa had turned him down coldly. He couldn't buy his way into her good graces, not after turning as much of a blind eye as the rest of them. Plus his breath always smelt of wine, and she'd once seen him pat the bum of one of the maids, so she didn't think it was a good idea to take any offers from him.

At least the story of Arya staying the weekend at Gendry's was still holding up for now, that was one plus in this miserable week of Sansa's life. She sat on her bed at the moment to her sister

“Where are you now? Did you get the money off of that guy? Are you nearly home?” 

“No, Gendry's mate was such an asshole, he didn't give us anything. Wouldn't even let us stay with him until we sorted stuff out, or use his shower” Arya muttered “So we ended up using up the last of our money to get a couple of trains to Leicester. Plus, I'm almost out of credit. I'm calling from a payphone right now, I didn't know those still existed”

“Ok, this is getting stupid, you should just come back” 

“Well, obviosuly I don't have enough money to get back now, do I” she said, her tone infuriating.

“You should call mum! Just...have her drive down and get you! She won't be that angry” Sansa said, knowing that was a lie. Arya was going to be in so much trouble for all of this. 

“No, listen, I'm fine. We met a guy, a truck driver, he's headed to lancaster and he says he'll take us with him, and then it's only a few more trains to-”

“Who are you talking too?”

Sansa spun around, dropping the phone from her ear, horror on her face as she saw Joffrey frowning at her from the doorway, but all her mind would scream at her was 'hitch hiking, hitch hiking, your sisters going to be killed by a crazy raper truck driver while she's hitch hiking' so it was incredibly difficult to make herself look, in any way, poised.

“No one” she said, stupidly, and much too fast.

Joffrey seemed to think it was a stupid thing to say too, and he came across the room to snatch her phone off her.

“Don't!” Sansa cried, futilely, as Joffrey held her back with one hand and took the phone with the other.

“Who is this?” Joffrey snarled down the line, but luckily Arya must have hung up. He pulled the phone away from his ear and read the screen, the anonymous number of the payphone glaring up at him.

“Was it a guy?” he asked immediately.

“No” Sansa frowned, more confident as she said it, since it was the truth “It was just my friend”

“Which one?” he demanded.

“Mira” the name rolled off her tongue effortlessly, the first that came to her head.

“What were you talking about?”

“Why is that your business?”

He shoved her. Hard.

Sansa stumbled back a little, eyes wide. 

It wasn't a hit, she told herself. It wasn't...it hadn't even hurt, so it didn't count, surely...but she looked at him in a new light as he stood back, breathing hard and glaring at her.

Would he hit me, she thought? The idea hadn't crossed her mind until now. 

It ended there without another word, as Joffrey left, managing to keep himself in check.

oo0o0o0o

It was the next evening when Sansa received the worst news possible. 

Rob had gotten his girlfriend pregnant.

Talisa was already two and a half months along, and apparantly they hadn't told anyone since the funeral came up and they didn't think it was a good time. Sansa could still remember just how livid her mother had sounded when she'd called to tell her.

“He just blurted it out! Said 'Mum, I have something to tell you' and out it all came, like there's not enough going on in our lives! God, and they're talking about getting married as well, he's only twenty one, she's younger....god, everyones just....it's all just falling apart, I don't even know anymore and sweetie, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to stay up here a bit longer. See if I can't help them see sense, and this business...it's all getting more complicated by the day. Oh, Sansa, I'm so, so sorry, but you and your sister will be fine for another few weeks, won't you? It's alright up there isn't it?”

Sansa of course lied. What help would it be to tell the truth?

She was lucky her mother was sated with the excuse that Arya was at football practice, and would have to be reached on her cell. A knot of worry filled Sansa when she realised that lie was going to come crashing down soon enough. She tried not to think of her sister hitch hiking her way towards her mother and brothers now, it was all out of her hands anyway. 

But if she wasn't worrying about her family, she was instead worrying about herself.

No matter what happened, she was to stay here for another few weeks. How long was 'a few'? Two? Three? It didn't matter. Any number of days spent here depressed her enough.

She sat there on her bed and stared at the sheets, unable to think of anything else until she wanted to scream. She should have run away with Arya. She wished she had. She felt useless and stuck and apparantly reckless, as a thought came to her head, and she picked her phone back up on impulse.

She needed a break. Just a small one. Even a small one would help, she told herself as she heard it dialing. 

Mum wouldn't want you doing this, a small voice niggled in the back of her mind, but that was before the other end of the line picked up.

“Hello, you've reached Petyr Baelish” Came a quick and practised answer.

“Mr Baelish, Hi, sorry to call so late but I just- I was wondering if it was possible if I could stay with you for a few nights, please-” Sansa winced as it all came out of her head too fast and without a thought. She was doing this on such an impulse “I mean, if you needed any babysitting done, and I could come over and stay the night, if that would be...if you wouldn't mind...this is Sansa by the way”

She felt herself turn red as she heard his soft laugh down the line.

“I know. I could tell. And Robin doesn't really need any babysitting, but that isn't to say you arent welcome here regardless...” he trailed off, and Sansa held her breath.

“So...does that mean you'd be fine with that then? If I were to stay for a night or two?”

“Of course. Robin will be ecstatic”

Sansa finally let herself smile “Great. Thank you so much, really”

“Please, Sansa. You're family. You're welcome here whenever you like, you just have to ask. Now, what nights would you like to-”

“Tomorrow? I could come after school. It'll be no trouble getting myself to school the next morning either”

“Right then...and Cersei's fine with this?”

“...well, I'm sure she will be. Like you said. We're family”

There was another soft laugh from the other end of the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late updates. Nearing the end of the semester and at the moment I'm doing four days of Uni, two days of work and one day of full prac out at a pre-primary. THEN EXAMS WAH....but then...semester break....which hopefully will be a nice long chance to write more : )


	19. Mad Men

“The spare room is a bit drab, I'm afraid.” Petyr said, as he led her down a hall.

The room wasn't upstairs, like his and Lysa's, and Robins, were. It was more tucked away, but as he opened the door, Sansa thought it anything but drab.

True, it was a bit plain, in a bare, male bachelor type of way. Nothing but a king size bed, with grey sheets and a leather headboard, and perfectly arranged matching furniture with no trace of decoration on them. Though there was a very large mirror that covered almost an entire side of the room, which Sansa realised were sliding doors of a wardrobe. It was as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, but it may as well have come straight from a furniture shop display, it was that un-lived in.

“Don't have many guests, then?” she asked, as she plonked herself down on the bed, testing out the springiness.

Petyr smiled “Can't say I do. Consider yourself lucky”

She smiled back, but couldn't help but feel awkward. She'd arrived and he'd told her Lysa had taken Robin to the doctors this afternoon, so here she was, alone with Petyr in his apartment. And now what? 

“Now, the bed side lights one of those ones where you clap to turn it on and off, and there's towels already in the bathroom for you to use. Sorry theres no ensuite, but it's just down the hall, and it's just as un-used as the room. Well, I think Robin may have used the spa bath as a battleground for his superhero toys, but other than that...” he trailed off and Sansa wondered if he felt awkward too. He didn't seem it, but maybe he was better at hiding it. She did her best to try and sit as non-awkwardly as possible, which in turn, probably just made her look more awkward.

In the silence she just gave him a well meaning smile “Again, um...thank you for letting me stay. Honestly.”

“Now that is the fifth time you've thanked me since I picked you up from school, and no more, I won't have it. You're more than welcome here, I want you to feel at home. Relax, take a bath, watch TV, lock yourself up in here and read a book if that's what you want to do. I can't say I have an insight into what life with the Lannisters is like, but I can gue-”

“Terrible.” Sansa laughed, though it was hardly funny “It's....it's terrible. I hate it.” she finished very softly.

He was being so nice, she thought. She felt like she hadn't had any 'nice' in a long time, and embarrassingly enough Sansa felt herself close to crying. She really did not want to cry in front of Mr. Baelish.... Petyr.

She felt the weight of him sitting down next to her on the mattress.

“Sansa, I have to ask, are the Lannister's treating you well?”

Sansa's first instinct was to say everything was fine, but the way he said it, the way he was looking at her, brow furrowed with concern...

“Joffrey threw my Ipod in the pool,” Was the first thing she blurted out, stupidly “and I'm not allowed to watch anything I want on tv, they won't let me out unless Joffrey goes with me. He can barely stand to look at me, unless he's yelling over something, and Cersei, or any of them, won't do anything about it because they let him get away with anything, because they're too busy drinking, or going out shopping, which is all Cersei seems to do, and once I even saw her slap one of the maids for putting her silk dressing gown through the wash wrong, and I'm pretty sure at least one of them is on drugs because I used one of the downstairs bathrooms and found about five of those doctor prescribed pill jars, you know, the orange ones from the movies, and Myrcella's nice but she doesn't stand up to any of them either, but at least they're nice to her and Tommen most of the time, and their allowed out, and now it's just me stuck on my own with all of them since Arya ran away and-”

“Arya ran away?” Petyr spoke over her, frowning for real now.

Sansa finally took a long, deep breath, after that rant, which she really hadn't intended to let slip like that, and looked sheepishly up at Petyr, head bowed.

“...I...yeah....she's in...well, I don't know where she is at the moment, last I heard she was-” she stopped herself mentioning the hitch hiking with strange men with trucks “-In a twenty four hour McDonalds in Warwick”

“Warwick?” Petyr expressed, in exactly the same way Sansa had when Arya had told her.

“But she didn't tell me she was going, so it's not my fault! I told her it was stupid to leave, I tried to to make her not be so much of an idiot, but you know what she's like! Well, no, actually you don't, sorry....but she's always doing things like this, and I lied to Cersei and told her she had just gone to her mates house, and I covered it all up thinking Arya would make it up to Mum and Rob in only a day, but now it's all gone to shit, and I'm going to get blamed just as much as her, or worse, because I'm older, and Mum and Cersei would say I should have kept an eye on her and-”

“Sansa,” she was cut off mid ramble, with Petyr putting a gentle hand on her shoulder “Now. You know how I told you I wanted you to relax while you were here?” he drew her hand into his, and Sansa forced herself to take another deep, long breath, as she nodded.

“Right. Ok. How do you usually relax then?”

Sansa shrugged and thought for a second “I watch TV?”

“That's convenient, I own one of those” he said with a nod, and again he made her laugh “Now, lets combine that with something that is well known to relax almost anybody.”

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Petyr held the glass of white wine in his hand, careful not to spill it as he gestured towards Sansa “-if anything, it was a selfish thing to do. I can understand why she might have done it, but nonetheless-”

“Thank you!” Sansa cried, her own wine spilling a little as her arm swept up into the air “Yes! It was selfish! I mean...at the end of...at the end of the day, I'm the one stuck here all on my own, and even if it had worked like she thought it would, Arya would be home with Mum and Rob and I'd still be alone with Joffrey and Cersei and all them...all the others!”

They were in the lounge, curtains drawn, and the TV was on but forgotten about. Petyr didn't have a great range of movies to choose from, with most of them being Robin's cartoons and movies about talking animals. Lost in Translation, Philadelphia, all those George Clooney heist movies and other boring looking films Sansa wasn't particularly interested in. He did have a Mad Men first season boxset though, so that's what she chose to put on, since he let her decide. She hadn't actually seen it before, but she knew it was popular, and smart. Plus, it sounded a lot more sophisticated to tell people you were into Mad Men, when they asked what shows you liked, rather than tell them you binge watched five episodes of Gok's Fashion Fix on youtube.

It didn't really matter though anyway, since they were now on the third episode and Sansa had barely paid attention.

“I just don't know how far she thought she was going to get without any money.” Petyr continued, and Sansa nodded again, liking everything he was saying. Mostly because it was in her favour.

“She doesn't think, she just...does....and it's because she doesn't care if she gets in trouble,” Sansa said miserably “Sometimes I wish I could be like that.”

“You always behave?” Petyr said, and she detected a hint of teasing in his voice.

They were both sat on the black leather sofa, and where they had started sitting on either end, quite refined, they had gradually become much more sprawled out. Both their shoes had been kicked off, and Petyr had his feet propped up on the glass coffee table, and he sunk leisurely back into the cushions. Sansa had put her feet up as well, stretched out along the sofa, turned away from the TV entirely so that could face him as she talked.

“I do. I'm a good girl,” she said with mock sweetness, and a trace of resentment “and you know what? I actually have money. All that babysitting money you gave me. Arya asked me if I had any, to help us both get tickets, and I lied about it.”

Petyr raised his glass “Ooh, the good girl can lie.”

Sansa stretched out her foot to jab him gently in his side “But honestly. I could have just...been a little daring for once, and we'd both be with Mum by now...”

“Mm, being good doesn't always have it's benefits.”

Sansa gave him a slightly surprised look and petyr was quick to wave a hand “Oh, I mean...no. I suppose I have to be some kind of paradigm of morals, don't I? A responsible upholder of desired behaviour in your impressionable teenage years. No, you should defintely obey all of the rules, all of the time. Be good, study hard, go to bed at a reasonable hour, don't watch late night HBO, or get a tattoo, no matter how small or hidden it may be, and so on and so forth.” he said as he topped up his glass of wine from the bottle, as well as offering it to Sansa.

She held out her glass and had to contain a laugh as he poured, a glint in his eye.

“I'd never get a tattoo.” she said, taking another sip.

“Oh thank god, that was probably the one thing I was serious about.”

“Joffrey's planning on getting a lion on his shoulder.”

“Of course he is.” Petyr scoffed.

“And Maragaery want's little roses on her hips.”

“Tacky.”

“Margaery is my friend though.”

“Doesn't mean she can't be tacky.”

Sansa tapped her fingers against her glass, trying not to enjoy hearing that “Cersei called me tacky the other day. My bag. My Louis Vuitton, which seems really hypocritical, since she did, like, two campaigns for them before, but she told me their bags are for cheap, yacht girls who get passed around by sleazy movie producers in Cannes, and I don't really know what she meant by that, but It was hardly a compliment.”

“Cersei's a bitter old cunt.” Petyr said dismissively, and Sansa let out a shocked laugh, clamping a hand over her mouth at his crassness.

“Petyr!” 

“What? You don't think so? Joffrey isn't any better. His genetics were against him, but he truly impressed me with how much of a little shit he grew up to be.”

Sansa sat there with wicked glee over hearing him say such things. All she ever heard was 'Cersei's so beautiful', 'Cersei's so kind to take you in', and 'Joffreys such a fine young man' and everyone knew it wasn't true, but no one had the nerve to say anything against them, not even her. Hearing Petyr bad mouth them pleased her to no end. 

“She probably only said it to spite you anyway. Having an attractive young girl around the house is probably bringing out her most resentful side.” Petyr said, in an obvious attempt to make her feel better.

“She's a world famous super model” Sansa pointed out.

“Ex-world famous super model” Petyr muttered back.

A brief silence fell over them, and the show blared over the TV screen, Don Draper saying something in a board room, but Sansa was at a loss over the plot she hadn't been paying attention too.

“I hate her.” she said after awhile “Cersei. And Joffrey. Tommen and Myrcella are alright. Jamie doesn't really talk to me. Tyrion is...alright, I guess.”

She heard a little 'tch' from Petyr.

“What?” she smiled “What was that?”

“Nothing. I work with him.”

“You seem to work with everyone.”

“Mmm, seems that way sometimes, doesn't it?”

Sansa lowered her voice a little “Is he a pervert? Tyrion, I mean”

Petyr gave her a peculiar look along with a sly smile “Maybe, but why would you ask?” then the smile dropped “Why, he hasn't asked anything of you, has he?”

“What? No, no, not at all,” Sansa was quick to say “But I have seen him grope one of the housekeepers before.”

“Ah. I heard he was fucking one of the maids.” Petyr said, absentmindedly, and Sansa liked how he swore around her. She liked that she had a class of wine in her hand. Didn't shy away from telling her anything, it seemed like. He didn't think of her as a child.

“And how do you know that?” she asked, giggling, and he smiled back at her.

“I know people who know things. You can't do much in this upper echelon circle, we all have nothing better to do than talk about each other. Plus it's much more interesting to discuss who's sleeping with the help, rather than the dreadful weather.”

“You're a gossip” Sansa teased and Petyr pretended to look affronted.

“I am interested in people.” he defended himself.

“And their secrets?”

He nodded, admittedly “And their secrets.”

“And some would call that being nosy.”

“It's hardly nosy, when people spill everything about themselves so willingly. Honestly, the one thing most everyone has in common, is that their favourite topic of conversation is themselves.” Petyr said, and Sansa pondered over that.

“So...tell me about you then. I want to know your secrets.” she asked, playfully, but he shook his head and gave her a look.

“No, no, no, my girl. You can't just ask like that, no." he chastised "you have to draw them out. Have some subtlety too it, ask gentle, innocuous questions and lead from there. That's how it's done.”

“Ok” Sansa settled down into the cushions further, stretching out her legs “When did you open your club then?”

“When I was younger.”

“What kind of people go there?”

“All sorts.”

“You told me your patrons were seedy.”

“Maybe I was joking?”

“Were you?”

“I don't know, was I?”

Sansa sighed as he gave her a frustratingly smug grin, and she kicked her foot a little “See, that's not fair, you're not answering properly!”

“Because I already know your aiming to know things, so of course now I'm on my guard, and you're not going to know a thing.” 

Sansa watched as he sipped at his own drink, and smiled at her over the glass, and it gave her a strange little thrill to think he might actually enjoy her. His compliments, the attention he gave her...she shouldn't linger on it. It was warm approval, he was a friend of the family, there was nothing to it. Maybe this was all just the alcohol.

Her sunken position enabled her to reach out and press a bare foot against his chest, coyly. Her big toe rested just under the lapel of his jacket, as if to point at the silver pin above it.

“It's a mockingbird,” she smiled, figuring it out “Like your club.”

“Good eye, but that's not a question.” he smiled back, taking her foot in his hand as if that were a natural thing to do. He kneaded at the soles lightly. 

Her mind shied away from the thought that it was sexual. That any of this night was in some way inappropriate. That was not something she wanted to think of right now. Not when she was finally smiling again. It was a foot massage, she thought, nothing untoward. 

But could she really convince herself of that, when her skirt was slipping back down her thigh, and she saw that Petyr's eye kept glancing down between her legs.

They fell into an extended silence, and Sansa let him keep touching her, and she kept her leg where it was, even though common sense told her to pull back. She tried to think of something to say. Something to make this feel normal.

“She's really pretty,” she said, absentmindedly glancing back to the TV, where Joan was on the screen “Who's the actress?”

“Christina Hendricks.” Petyr said without pause, his thumb kneading the arch of her foot.

“You knew that off the top of your head. Have you ever googled her then?” she said asked, with a teasing smile.

He gave Sansa a look as she wiggled her toes “Like you said. She's very pretty. The red hair, pale skin....gorgeous even.” 

A slow smile spread across Sansa's face, and she almost lifted her a leg a little higher. But then a door slammed.

Her foot was dropped. Petyr was up, and off the couch, in a second, as Lysa's and Robins footsteps clattered through the hall.

Sansa could hear him greet her, hear her kiss him, start talking about her day and the doctors, and she sat up straight on the sofa. She felt like her mind was all of a sudden too clear, and thinking quickly, she took the nearly empty wine bottle and hid it down by the side of the couch.

“Sansa!” Came Robins cry, and Sansa looked up to see her cousin bounding across the living room to hug her.

She hugged him back, noting the little white cotton buds taped along his arm, as Lysa appeared after him, frowning.

“Sansa” she said, less excited than Robin, an unsure laugh in her voice “What are....what are you doing here?”

Sansa was about to stutter out an answer, her mind and mouth trying to catch up with one another, but Petyr appeared behind his wife, a gentle hand on her arm.

“She's staying with us for the weekend. I'll explain...not in front of Robin. Come on”

Sansa watched her aunt be led away, Lysa's eyes narrowed and fixed on her as she left, and she felt an unease grip her, the TV still blaring in the background. Her foot still warmed from where he'd held it. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last exam is tomorrow, and I took a break from studying to finally get this chapter up.
> 
> I love writing dialogue scenes, especially when it's characters like Petyr. Witty, playful, rude and scathing.
> 
> I'm also going to give all the chapters names, since it's easier to jump back to certain points. I've had trouble with that, where I'm like 'I need to go back to the party scene. Fuck. Where is it?' and I have to click between chapters 9 to 15 to find it.


	20. Bright red nails

Joffrey is throwing everything she owned in the pool. Her dresses, her skirts, her favourite satin covered shoes that would ireverably be ruined by the chlorine, her books, her bags, the stuffed animals that sit on her shelf, her makeup, he takes everything and tosses it in the clear blue water without a word, and Sansa won't stop screaming at him the whole time, but his face doesn't even flinch. He just goes in and out of the house grabbing more and more of her things, everything she owns, and throws it in the pool as she follows behind him, yelling herself hoarse for him to please stop,please, he cant, they're her things, stop it, stop it, please, but it's as if he doesn't even hear her.

Cersei is sitting by the pool too, and Tyrion, and Jamie and all of the mansions staff. She starts to scream at them too, but they just sit, as deaf and as unflinching as Joffrey, watching as more and more things sink.

Sansa needs to get into the pool, so she strips off her clothes, but Joffrey only picks them up and throws them in too. The diving board is fifty feet tall and it takes her forever to climb it. Arya is climbing ahead of her, taunting her for being slow, and Sansa tries to climb faster, but Arya climbs s o high she's out of sight, and by the time Sansa reaches the top, clouds around her, her sister is gone, and she's shivering with her toes on the edge of the diving board. She needs to jump and fetch her things, she needs them, they're hers, maybe if she gets them fast enough her shoes won't be ruined.

When she jumps she goes down face first, so that she can see the water clearly, and the waves, and the boats, and the sharks, which she hopes she doesn't land too close too as she breaks the water, remembering to pinch her nose like her mother taught her, so that she doesn't suck in the salty sea water. But she's under, and she looks down, and there's nothing floating around her, not even the sharks anymore, and she spins and spins around, frantically trying to spot any of her things, but then her head is gripped and she screams, long fingered hands holding her down so she cant come back up again, and through the bubbles of air that escape her mouth and her own thrashing, all she can see are the bright red nails.

Then she's awake, and she's not screaming or shaking, it's just that her heart was beating a little faster. She lay there in the dark and felt her way to the edge of the mattress, this bed was really much too big for just her, so she could reach down to grab her phone which was charging at the wall.

She meant to look at the time, but the first thing she saw on the illuminated screen was the twelve missed calls and five missed messages, from Cersei and various other anonymoys numbers.

Shit shit shit.

Sansa switched the phone off and lay it down for a second. She was in trouble for leaving, she was in trouble for not asking first, she was in trouble for not telling about Arya, trouble, trouble, trouble, shit, shit, shit.

She put the phone down on the floor again, rolled over, and pulled up the covers and decided that she hadn't seen the messages at all, and perhaps her phone had died, and it wasn't her fault she hadn't gotten them. Yes, she would call back in the morning. It could wait till morning.

Sansa lay there in the dark pretending she couldn't hear her phone vibrate every ten or so minutes for what felt like an hour, until she heard a more distant outside her room. The home phone ringing. 

Shit, shit, shit.

Then she sat up as she saw the faint glowing lines frame her door, Petyr or Lysa, or both of them, getting up to answer it.

She flung off the sheets and duvet, running out down the hall into the foyer, where Petyr stood with the phone already pressed to his ear.

He must of heard her footfalls, as he was already looking at her as she halted on the marble floor giving him her most pained look, with a frantic motion of her arms. A silent begging for him to put the phone down.

He looked half asleep himself, and he may have been frowning at her, the annoyance of being woken up in the middle of the night, or at whatever the person down the other end of the phone line was currently saying to him, but Sansa realised she was too little too late.

“Yes, yes. Send her up. If she's brought some kind of brute with her, have her leave him behind. Send one of your staff to escort her if she gets fussy, which no doubt she will.”

When he clicked the phone back down onto the receiver, Petyr felt the need to state the obvious.

“Cersei's here.”

“She's come to take me back.” Sansa muttered, resigning herself too it.

“Yes, well, I doubt she's brought the armed guard with her...” Petyr muttered, and Sansa watched as he ran his hand through his hair, trying to flatten the skewiff strands. His sleepwear consisted of a matching set of deep blue pyjama pants and button up flannel, except they were silk, with a subtle dotted pattern. His robe was burgundy and he even had a pair of monogrammed slippers. Sansa's eyes flickered up and down this bedtime ensemble and she half thought Petyr Baelish's pyjamas were more indulgent and put together than most mens day outfits. Then by chance her eyes passed over his chest, and she did a double take, just a second longer look, where the buttons came down quite low. The skin didn't quite look right, she thought, but she lost the chance to look again as his hands tied the robe shut, and he paced.

“Do I have time to dress? I don't really fancy facing off with a Lannister in my pyjamas, and not even my nicest pair at that, but oh god, no, if I actually change and appear to make an effort she'll know it. Who'd be wearing anything but pyjamas at this time of night?”

Sansa tugged at her own nightie. The tartan teddy bear one. She didn't really like the idea of Cersei seeing her in this.

Then she realised Petyr's eyes were on her too, and she realised she didn't like the idea of him seeing her in it either. It was so kiddy. Plus she was suddenly very conscious that she wasn't wearing a bra, so she folded her arms over her chest.

Then their was a knock on the door, and Petyr strode to answer it, and Sansa tensed.

“Cersei,” Petyr smiled as he pulled open the door, with Sansa hanging back some way down the hall behind him.

“Petyr,” Cersei tried to offer at least a shred of politeness in her tone, but she looked past him with barely a glance, her eyes fixing on Sansa, her lips thin. There was a very solemn looking man stood behind her in a black suit and a Hyde Park security badge “I'm very sorry about calling in so late-” she said, not sounding particularily sorry at all “-but Sansa didn't exactly warn us she would be over here for the night.”

Petyr's eyebrows shot up “Didn't she? Well, that doesn't sound liker her.” he turned back to her, a frown on his face.

“I...I sent a text.” She said.

“One text, late in the afternoon, saying you would be babysitting. No times, no checking in with me first-” Cersei started to fume, but Petyr interrupted with a wave of his hand.

“I will take a little of the blame here, I know I did ask Sansa to come over to sit for us very last minute, it was very unfair of me.” He said a little sheepishly, a tone that she hadn't heard on him before.

“She didn't even say she was sleeping over here,” Cersei spoke as if addressing him, but her eyes were still fixed on Sansa “I've been worried sick!”

At that Sansa cowered less and hardened. That was a lie.

“Sansa usually sleeps over when she babysits, it's the way we've always done it-”

Sansa blinked. Another lie, this time from Petyr's lips. He was looking at her now.

“Yes-” Sansa nodded along “I just....didn't think about it. I just texted as if I was texting mum like usual...I'm sorry, it was stupid of me.”

Petyr sucked in air between his teeth “Ah, well. There was a bit of lack of thought maybe, and you really should have checked first-” he gave Sansa a pointed look, and Sansa felt slightly scolded“-but she's alright, and that's what matters.”

“I'm really sorry for making you worry, I didn't mean too.” Sansa found herself saying.

Cersei didn't look in any way softened by the heartfelt apology.

“Well. Ok then. I'm glad your safe, at least,” she said with all the emotional range of a GPS navigator “Now come on, grab your things, lets get you home.”

Sansa didn't make a move. Instead she looked to Petyr, who let out a little laugh.

“Oh, come on now, it's late. You know she's alright now, and she's already ready for bed.” he reasoned.

He said it so casually, as if it were all easy and as if he didn't see the fury behind Cersei's gaze as she bristled.

“No. No, I think she should come with me now.”

“But surely it's easier if she just stayed here?”

“I really think it-”

“I can drop her back in the morning, it's no trouble.”

“Look” Cersei snapped “Somethings...somethings come up. Sansa needs to come home with me right now, I don't want to argue about it.”

“Petyr?”

All three of them turned to find Lysa emerging down the stairs in her thick dressing gown, a frown on her face “What's all this, what's going on?” she demanded, eyeing Cersei with more than a touch of bemusement.

“Nothing, I'm just here to take Sansa home.” Cersei mouthed slowly, obviously trying to keep her famed temper in check, but Lysa wasn't exactly a shrinking violet herself.

“Take her home, why?” she demanded.

Petyr blustrered to his wife before Cersei could reply “She said somethings come up, I don't know, she hasn't said, I'm a bit lost.”

“Look, it's personal business, and I dont feel comfortable sharing it-”

“Personal business?” Lysa laughed as she frowned “I am her aunt, I feel like it very much is my business.”

Cersei blinked and looked Lysa, this plain plump woman in a natty old dressing gown, with disdain.

“Yes. Personal, and frankly your sister didn't leave you in charge of her, she left her with me, so I hardly think-”

“Sansa, do you want to go with her?” Lysa whipped around, ignoring Cersei, her voice sharp.

Sansa looked to Cersei, Petyr, her aunt and then the floor all in the space of a couple of seconds, then shook her head mutely.

“There. It's decided. She's staying here. She can stay here as long as she likes actually, we can pick up her things tomorrow, along with Arya, and you won't have to worry about either of them. Would you like that Sansa?” she barked and Cersei was floored. 

“Sansa, honestly, this is stupid, come on, come with me, we really need to go now-”

Sansa was still a mute among all of this, and she was so tense, especially at the mention of Arya, that she flinched as she felt Petyrs hand clasp her shoulder.

“You said earlier, you said something about a...a...something had happened? What were you talking about? Is everything alright?” he flustered, frowning lightly, his voice much gentler than Lysa's, who had in turn seemed to step in front of Sansa. A blockade of a woman.

“Its...” Cersei seemed to fumble on her words, something Sansa hadn't seen her ever do “Arya has...Arya has left, actually.”

“She's left?” Lysa frowned “What do you mean she's left, where did she go?”

Cersei's face didn't flinch, but she paused too long.

“You mean you don't know?” Lysa's eyes went wide, and Sansa watched as Petyr dropped his jaw a little.

“She said she was going to a friends house, that's where I thought she was for the past couple of days, but she hasn't come home, and I called in, and the boys parents say she hasn't even been there at all, so I don't-” 

She sounded nervous, and she didn't finish her sentence before Lysa was upon her.

“You lost her!”

“I did not lose her-”

“You LOST a child?! A child in your care? You have no idea where she is?!” 

“We're looking for her, my brothers are in their cars driving around the city right now and-”

“Your brothers? What about the police, you need to call them, especially if she's been gone for days!” Lysa said, panicked, already heading back towards the phone, but Cersei grabbed after her, clutching the sleeve of her dressing gown.

“No, no, there's no need for police!” she said hurriedly “We don't need to make a big deal of this, she might be at another friends house, or with her brother, we don't know yet.”

“Sansa,” Petyr asked, voice serious “Has your sister been in contact with you at all? Do you know where she might be?”

He was the picture of concern. He kept his tone even, but Sansa noted the little touch of fear and panic in his voice that any adult would have over the idea of a missing child.

But that touch shouldn't be there. He knew what had happened to Arya. He knew.

It was at that moment that Sansa started to realise that Petyr Baelish was a very, very good liar.

“No” she shook her head “She hasn't messaged me at all....and she hasn't put anything new up on facebook either” she added.

“Oh my god.” Lysa seemed to reel, eyes flashing fire at Cersei “What if somethings happened? What if she's been hurt, or has been kidnapped, or where going to get a phoncall about a ransom in a few days, jesus christ-” she rambled on, caught up in her worry.

“It's being handled!” Cersei said definsively “And it's hardly my fault!”

Sansa only watched as it all went off then.

“Oh, shut up, you horrid woman!” Lysa spat at her, finger pointing “I don't know what possessed Cat to leave her daughters with you in the first place, of all people, but I know all about what's gone on at that house, about your pervert of a brother! You should be ashamed of yourself, and if you think I'm sending Sansa back there, now that you've lost her sister, you can think again!”

Now Sansa looked just about as confused as Cersei, but she wasn't going to speak up now, not while Lysa raged.

“I beg your pardon?!” Cersei seethed “I don't know what my brother has to do with anything, but Jamie has treated Sansa with nothing but respect-”

“Not him, the other one, the midget! I should have him investigated for what he did, it's sick, she's only a teenager!”

“What the hell are you talking about!?” Cersei yelled back at her.

Sansa tried to catch eyes with Petyr for a moment, but he wouldn't look at her. 

He's told her something. He said he would speak to her.

“Did you even know, or did you just ignore it? Too busy getting your botox, or drinking yourself into a stupor? Get out. She's not coming with you, get out. I've had enough of you!”

Cersei gaped, a laugh of utter mirth escaping her lips “You're mad. Everyones right in what they say about you, you're completely mad, I have no idea what you're even talking about, and if your implying that my brother in anyway touched Sansa, I could have you sued for defamation, he would never-”

“Get her out of my house!” Lysa yelled towards the security personal, yelling quite madly “Get her out, and don't let her back in! Your a disgrace of a woman, and I'll have you sued for child endangerment!”

The security guard did his best to try and coax Cersei out and down the hall with a gentle hand around her arm, but little did he know Cersei wasn't a woman to be coaxed anywhere, or be physically touched by and kind of service staff “Get off me!” she snapped, throwing one last furious look at Lysa, Petyr and Sansa, pointing a finger with bright red fingernails.

“Are you sure you want her left here with him? Your sisters little look alike? And you say my brothers the pervert!”

“Get. Out!” Lysa screamed in response, and Cersei sped off and the door was slammed after her.

Sansa stood there in the now empty hallway, filled only with the sound of Lysa's heavy breathing.

She glanced at Petyr and their was an echo in her head.

'Are you sure you want her left here with him?'

Then she watched as Petyr went to embrace Lysa, and she all but fell into him.

“Oh, my fierce little wife. You sent her running.” he said, warmly.

“We need to call the police...” Was the first thing she mumbled weakly.

“Shhh, shhhh, let me deal with that.” he soothed her.

“What about Catlyn? I should call her too”

“Or perhaps it would be best if Sansa did that herself, hm?” Petyr brushed her loose hair away from her face, smiling down at her.

Lysa smiled back, though a little hesitantly “Well, I suppose, but I still think-”

But Petyr kissed her gently and she stopped.

“We can leave this 'till morning, I should think. It's late, and this has all been rather...taxing.”

Sansa rather thought that perhaps Lysa was going to say more. She held her gaze with Petyr for a few seconds longer, like words were on her lips as he smiled at her, but in the end she just nodded.

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Sansa didn't feel like she thanked her aunt enough. Before they all parted to go back to bed, she'd only mumbled it, almost as an afterthought, but really it was because so much seemed to have happened in those ten minutes, it was like it hadn't quite processed yet. 

She sat on her bed with the lights on, knowing she should at least try to sleep soon since she had school tomorrow, but it wasn't as if sleep was going to come easy now.

So far she'd had the impression that Lysa didn't quite like her, and she wasn't so sure she liked her aunt back much herself, but she'd fought for her. Not Petyr, but Lysa. If Lysa hadn't come down those stairs, she wondered if she would have been in the back of Cersei's stretch limo right about now, still in her nightie.

There was a soft knock on her door, and it opened before Sansa could say anything in reply, revealing Petyr.

He regarded her with a quick smile, slipping into the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Sansa sat up straight against the head board as he took a seat down the end of her bed, hands neatly in his lap, looking pleased with himself.

“I think that went rather well, to be honest” was the the first thing out of his mouth.

Sansa nodded, vaguely “I suppose....so, am I going to stay here now? Until mum gets back?”

“I should think so. If Cersei has any more complaints, I'd be happy to ring the police and let them know she lost your sister, and she knows it. I think we have her at bay for now.”

“I thought you said you were going to ring the police about Arya anyway?” Sansa frowned.

“Yes. To Lysa though, not Cersei.”

“....so, are you going to ring the police or not?”

“No.” Petyr said very simply.

“But-” Sansa started, but Petyr tempered her with a wave of his hand.

“It creates more problems than it solves, and I doubt they'd find her anyway. We don't want your mother knowing, and we want that leverage over Cersei. I know you're truly worried for your sister, as am I, don't think me heartless. I have people looking for her already, I've already made some calls.”

Sansa eyed him more warily than ever before “What do you mean 'people', what people?”

“People who are good at finding other people. Better than most underpaid policemen, I assure you.”

Sansa wanted that to soothe her but it didn't. She didn't know what she was starting to see about Petyr Baelish, but it was something new and vaguely disconcerting, and she didn't quite know why. He'd helped her, she had confided in him about Arya, and he hadn't given her away. She'd wanted to stay here, she had. He was still nice and warm and smiled at her, she told herself, trying to shake away the doubts, and the last, confusing, words of Cersei that wouldn't stop running through her mind.

She decided she wouldn't mention that though.

“What did you tell Lysa? About Tyrion?” she asked.

“Oh, that,” Petyr said, sounding non-plussed “When I tried to convince her earlier to let you stay, I may have embellished the truth about what you may have gone through. Everyone knows the man has a weakness for pretty women anyway, you yourself wondered if he was a pervert, and frankly to most, he is.”

Sansa felt a little stab of guilt press into her gut. Tyrion had been nicer to her than the others.

“I didn't mean...he didn't actually do anything, I don't want to falsely accuse him of-”

“Sansa, don't worry yourself over it. Even if the Lannister's believe it, they would never let a story like that leak to the press. It's only a tiny smidgen of blackmail on our part, and it won't come back to him in any big way, I promise. There's no need to feel bad. Plus, he didn't exactly help you much, did he?”

“....no” Sansa submitted, staring down at the bedsheets. That was true, she supposed, and if it wasn't actually going to hurt him...

“Did you...did you say you had to convince Lysa to let me stay?” she asked her next question tentatively.

“She wasn't keen on the idea at first, true.”

Sansa frowned “But then why did she fight Cersei like that? To protect me?”

Petyr smiled “Lysa hates Cersei. She hates all the Lannister's, for petty reasons and real ones. It hardly matters what Lysa thinks of you staying, anything she could take away from Cersei Lannister, she would take.”

Oh, she thought. She had hoped it had something to do with love and family. That she was wanted here.

“You still look worried.” Petyr observed, and Sansa shrugged.

“I'm just tired, that's all.”

He nodded in a way that suggested he didn't believe her, but didn't press it.

“Maybe it would be better if you missed school tomorrow. Have an impromptu long weekend.”

Sansa liked that idea a lot. It was the only easy thing to think of an answer to so far “Yes, ok.”

“Good, and if your not too tired tomorrow, perhaps we could do something?”

“We?”

“Me, you, Lysa and Robin. He's homeschooled, and Lysa's hardly strict on his timetable. He's going to love hearing he'll have you around for awhile.”

Petyr smiled and talked about a family day out as if everything was alright, and all of this trouble with Cersei, the mess they still seemed in the middle of, was non-existant. He wasn't thick, Sansa knew. Did he think she was?

He didn't want to play happy families, she knew that much. She could only guess why he really wanted her here.

“Yeah....sounds good.” she found herself nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets not forget that I very much see Baelish as a sociopath who is very good at manipulating those around him to get exactly what he wants, so I write him being 'nice' but that 'niceness' doesn't truly have very good intentions about it, hm hm.
> 
> And honestly it's so easy to demonise Lysa, and while I do make her a bit of a butt of a joke, you can't fault her need to protect children. She's pathetically under Petyr's thumb and she's petty when it comes to her sister and Sansa, but she's also a mother and I think her reaction to Arya being missing would be an actually compassionate one.
> 
> Also, sorry to anyone who hates the word 'midget' like I do. I know it's a horrible thing to call someone, but I felt it was still in character with Lysa. She's problematic.


	21. Portraits

When Lysa suggested they go out to breakfast, Sansa thought perhaps they would go to Costa, or a Starbucks. That's what the Starks would have always done, if they ever made a trip into town. It was the only place six different children could all find something to eat, where Sansa herself would always try the latest frothy coffee or another and instagramming it, while Arya would usually get a bacon buttie, or something equally disgusting, and her little brothers would get hot chocolates and muffins, without fail, and Jon and Rob trying to drink long blacks and flat whites like they were so much older and sophisticated as they complained about being dragged along in the first place. Cat would simply try and take the order and maintain the small crowd of them, while her Dad had to politely ask people if he could drag away a chair from their table that they weren't using, to seat his small brood of children.

But no. Lysa and Petyr's idea of a bite to eat in London was high tea at Fortnum and Masons.

Their was plush red carpet and chandeliers hanging on the shop floor, where there were displays of tea from all over the world, all in exquisitely decorated packages. They were led up to the fourth floor, where the bannisters of the staircase of the old building shone gold, to the Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon. The maitrde, of course, was quick to boast that, yes, the tearoom was opened by the Queen herself, and that he would escort them to their 'Taerista'.

Sansa heard Petyr scoff at the word as they were led through to a small table by the window, where the so called 'Tearista', presented them with a wooden tray with four tea tasting cups, all different blends, all of which got a little introductory speech with information about how it was made, where it was from, how it was picked, the size of the leaves...which was very, very dull in Sansa's opinion, but Lysa seemed to enjoy it. Robin fussed in his chair a bit too, but she took him by the hand and escaped with him to look at the carriage full of tea cakes and pastries. There were lovely little marzipan mice in pink and white, with chocolate hazelnut hedgehogs, and strawberry and lemon tarts, eclairs and custard scrolls and Sansa maybe would have liked to take a picture, but she was suddenly very aware that this was the kind of place you had to act a lady. She was glad that she'd at least worn a nice dress. As she busied Robin by asking him what names they could give all the marzipan mice, she glanced back over at Petyr, where he eventually saw her looking and very slyly mimed choking himself with his tie, as Lysa and the 'Tearista' where busy talking about green tea with hints of elderflower.

Sansa ended up ordering a cautious cup of Lemon tea, which she ended up not really liking, but sipped dutifully anyway, so not to waste it. Petyr ended up ordering a coffee, despite his new education in tea, and Robin threatened tears if he couldn't have chocolate milk, which wasn't on the menu, but it was arranged for him quick enough anyway. They also ended up with a little marzipan mouse each, the ones they had named Thomas and Claire.

When it came time to leave, Sansa caught a glimpse of the bill and it was terribly expensive. Much, much more than an entire Stark families trip to Starbucks. Petyr only handed over his card without a qualm, and Lysa looked just as nonplussed.

“Right, ready for a bit of walk?” Petyr said, as they stepped out onto the bustling Piccadilly street, with every type of tourist, shopper and worker crowding the pavement alike.

They'd planned, well, Lysa had planned really, to go and visit the National Portrait Gallery. Something educational, she'd said, to make up for the fact that Sansa was missing school.

When she told Robin where they were going, however, he let out a whine, already caving in on himself.

“Do we have to?” he grizzled into Lysa's skirts “Can't we got to Hamley's instead?”

“No, come on, we got you some new toys the other week, and I think we'll have a nice time at the gallery, won't we?” Lysa tried to sound chipper, but Robin was having none of it.

“Don't want to go!” he stomped his little foot.

“Oh, Robin, sweetheart, don't be like that-”

“Don't. Wan't. To. go!” he all but screamed, making a group of asian tourists all turn to look.

“Robin-” Petyr tried, but he was cut off immediately,

“You can't make me go!” he cried, swinging a badly aimed little fist at Petyr's legs, which missed, but the kick that followed after collided nicely with the grown mans shins.

“Robin, try that again and you'll be-”

“CAN'T MAKE ME!”

Sansa watched as Petyr tried to keep as much composure as he could, as Robin screamed and kicked, and flailed his arms, with Lysa trying to clutch him to her instead, cooing at him softly.

Sansa, more than anything, just wanted the scene to stop so the rest of the street would stop staring.

“Robin,” she bent down, having to raise her voice a little as she put a gently hand on his shoulder “Robin, listen, the galleries really fun!” she urged, only just getting his attention. Then she took out her little marzipan mouse from it's paper bag “Look, Claire told me she really wants to go, and so do I. We've never been before. Do you think you and Thomas would like to come with us?”

Robin was still breathing heavily, persisting with his little whining noises as snot dribbled down over his lip before he could wipe it away with his sleeve. But she had his attention. 

“Oh, Robin,” she held up Claire the marzipan mouse, and overcame any embarrassment she had for the good of everyones sanity, as she put on a little simpering voice “Please, please come with us to see all the paintings. Maybe you can help me find some with mice in them, I'd so like to see that!”

Sansa turned a bit pink, as she knew both Petyr and Lysa were listening as she did this, but Robins whimpers had left him, and his lip had almost stopped trembling, so she made Claire wriggle up his sleeve.

“Please, Robin, we won't have us much fun without you! Oh, say you'll come with us, please?”

A smile made it's way onto Robins face as Sansa made Claire boop him on the cheek, like she was giving him a little kiss, and then he nodded, reaching into his own paper bag for Thomas. He went to do the same to Sansa, pressing the treat a little too hard to Sansa's face so that she had a sugary smudge on her cheek, but at that, he was giggling, so she didn't mind too much.

He was pliable after that, and as they walked through the busy London streets, Petyr gave her a thankful look. She had to keep up the little game though, switching over to her mouse voice the whole way there.

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“There aren't any portraits of mice. There aren't any portraits of any animals, at all.”

“Mmm.” Sansa nodded at her cousin.

“Why do all the old men have white hair like that?”

“I don't know Robin, they're probably wigs.” Sansa sighed, her voice coming out very flatly. An hour of being a chirpy mouse had taken it's toll, as had Robin's questions.

“This one has a wig too. Why did they wear wigs?”

“I don't know Robin.”

“Are they bald under there?”

“Maybe,” Sansa wandered after him as he rushed ahead, gazing at the regency portraits of women in flowery dresses and men in military uniforms.

By now her hand was sticky with Marzipan, as it had begun to melt in her palm. Robin had bitten into Thomas half an hour ago, so now he was just a decapitated little mouse head.

“Come on, lets go to the next room, you're so slow,” Robin kept charging forward, barely glancing at the pictures on the wall.

“Don't rush Robin, we have to wait for your Mum and Petyr,” she called out in vain, sick of chasing after him.

“They're even slower than you. I want to go to the gift shop. Is there much more to look at?” he ran back past her “Mum, Petyr, hurry up! You're taking forever!” he yelled, making Sansa wince as the security guard in the corner gave her a nasty look.

“Shhh, shh, darling, we keep our voice down in the gallery, don't we?” Lysa hurried in from the previous room, Petyr following languidly behind her.

Sansa watched as Robin pulled his mother along by the hand, still babbling about the gift shop. She had to admit it wasn't a bad idea. She was quite over it all herself by now.

“I can't stand children, to be honest with you,” was Petyr's way of starting conversation as he wandered up behind her, looking just as bored “lousy conversationalists, you can't drink with them, they haven't travelled, terrible taste in movies...”

Sansa smiled and shrugged “I don't mind them, really. I guess that comes from having three younger siblings.”

“Must have been good practice for you. You are very good with him,” Petyr nodded in the vague direction his wife and step son had dissapeared too in the distance “it's a god send you're around really, and it's only your first day staying with us.”

“Yes, it's like you've gotten a free in-house nanny. Is that the only real reason you really want me staying? ” she teased.

He smiled back for a second like he might have almost given one, searching her face as Sansa waited for the words to leave him. Then he just as quickly turned his head to examine a portrait.

“Oh, look here. What a nice painting this is.” he said, a non-answer. Sansa stood there as he wandered closer to exam the painting, her smile dropping. She supposed she shouldn't be annoyed. She hadn't exactly phrased the question very seriously, but even a jokey answer would have been nice. Jokey, not flirty, definitely not, she assured herself.

The portrait in question was of an attractive girl, dressed quite plainly in white linen, and she posed with soft hands at her face, looking coyly off to the side of the frame.

“Emma Hamilton,” Petyr read from the placard on the wall beside her “Daughter of a blacksmith, who became the mistress of Charles Greville.”

“Pretty,” Sansa commented, stepping forward to read the rest “Though I don't know who Charles so and so is.”

“Neither do I, but he seems like a lucky man. It says Emma here she was quite popular with artists of the day for her beauty. Charming reputation too.”

Her eyes scanned over the text and caught a particular line “He wasn't that lucky. She ended up marrying his uncle over him.”

Petyr's eyes never left the painting, but she saw his mouth purse hiding a much wider smile. 

“Wouldn't it be nice if they still did portraits these days,” he mused, again, tactfully avoiding her words as if he was having a conversation with himself “there's something so much nicer about brush strokes. They look softer. Theres so much care put into them as well. A lot of love has to go into a painting, rather than someone simply pressing a button and making a flash go off.”

“Would you pay a man to paint you, then?” Sansa asked, but he laughed.

“No, I don't think so. I'm hardly a man someone would lovingly paint,” he waved a hand at the coy Emma Hamilton “pretty girls, they're the true muses of the art world. Think of every famous portrait you know. Go on, list them.”

Sansa tried to remember her art history lessons “I don't know. The Mona Lisa. The girl with the Pearl earring. That one of Anne Boleyn where she has that little 'B' necklace”

“All pretty girls....and now that I think about it, all quite famed mistresses. Just like young Emma here.”

He was looking at her now, and she had to look away so he wouldn't see her face tinge pink “I was told they never found out who the girl with the pearl earring was. That's why the paintings so famous.”

“Yes, well, they spin quite a compelling story in that movie with Scarlett Johansen and Colin firth, so I like to believe that version.”

“And the Mona Lisa? I never heard she was a mistress?”

“Again, only a theory, but a nice one. A muse and lover of DaVinci himself.” 

“So, they are all famous, with their faces hung in renowned galleries, just for fooling around with kings and old painters?”

“Well behaved woman rarely make history.” Petyr quipped “And Anne Boleyn was queen of England for a time, just for fooling around with a king, so don't knock her too hard.”

Sansa again turned to Emma Hamilton. 

“She'll be remembered forever, here like this.” she said, quite wistfully. 

“Beauty, romance and scandal make a lovely mix, don't they?”

Then Sansa felt Petyr step toward her, right close to her side, so that the sudden invasion of her personal space left her quite surprised.

“You may not have noticed,” he whispered lowly by her ear, and she felt her breath hitch involuntarily “But there is a man following us.”

She didn't know what she was expecting, but it definitely wasn't that. She went to turn her head, but he tutted “No, don't look. He's by the entranceway. Checkered shirt, brown hair. Come, lets move on to the next room.”

Sansa felt as if he was mad, but she followed him as they walked. Slowly, she let her head turn casually, as if she was taking in one last sweep of the art, when she saw the man Petyr described.

He was scrolling through his phone, looking bored, but as she glanced at him, his eyes flicked up to hers. It was only a second, and she didn't think he saw as she flicked her gaze back to nothing.

“What do you mean he's been following us? Why?” she muttered after Petyr.

“I first noticed him at Fortnum and Masons. When we left I thought I remembered seeing him as we came in, and thought, god, that mans been browsing through racks of tea for awhile now. Then I saw him again when we queued here for tickets. Saw him at the back of the line as we made our way in. He's been faintly behind us the whole way around the gallery.”

“Are you sure it's not just a coincidence? I mean, theres no need to jump too any.......you're not just playing a joke on me right now, are you?” Sansa frowned.

“Keep your voice down.” Petyr said with a dropped tone, in a way that told her if he was joking, he was taking it very far.

“Well, if he IS some kind of stalker, should we say something? Tell security, make him leave? He has his phone on him, do you think he's been taking pictures? God, why is he following us in the first-”

“Think for a second.” he cut her off “Who would want to keep tabs on you? Who already lost a Stark girl from right under their nose?”

Sansa blinked, still slightly sure this was some kind of elaborate joke “Cersei?”

“That's who I'd place my bets on.”

This was mad, Sansa thought. Like something from a movie. People don't really get 'tailed' in real life do they? She felt like it especially wouldn't be happening to her.

She wanted to glance back again, but was stopped with a faint touch on the arm.

“Now, don't panic. He's harmless. Probably only a member of her security team sent to watch you. Make sure Lysa and myself aren't smuggling you down to Cheshire or back North.”

“Why would she care so much though?” That was the most bizarre part to Sansa “So what if we went to Cheshire, that's none of her business? Not really.”

“No. It isn't, but honestly Cersei's a woman who likes to make everything her business, and you're good business.”

“What does that mean?”

“You're worth a lot of money. You're families worth a lot of money. There are advantages in keeping you close.”

That answer barely answered anything at all, if anything, it only caused more questions to spring up in her mind, but he didn't give her time to ask them.

“Come on. I think it's time we make our way to the gift shop, and then home.”

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The rest of the weekend went quickly in Sansa's memory.

She remembered spending Saturday in.

She helped make pancakes with Robin, where he insisted they make a whole three platefuls, though they only got through half of them.

They went down to the park and fed the ducks.

Sansa thought she saw a man with brown hair and a phone camera, but he wasn't wearing a checkered shirt, and she was sure it was nothing, she was just being stupid.

Saturday night Petyr went out and she didn't work up the nerve to ask if she could come. Though she thought she might try it next week.

She heard him come home late at night, and just happened to get up for a glass of water when he did, so she could bump into him in the kitchen.

Sunday she did more colouring, played shops for hours, where she had to be the customer, buying wicker baskets full of plastic fruit, which Robin would ring up on his Fischer Price till and insist he owed her five hundred and two dollars. 

Myranda came over, after she'd heard Sansa was living here now, and the girls had chattered on in what Sansa now regarded as her room, and she loved how out there Myranda was. She told her all sorts of mad stories, and showed her some very rude pictures some boys had sent her on her phone, that had Sansa bright red from embarrassment and laughter.

The last thing she remembered enjoying was watching the Girl with the Pearl Earring. Petyr brought it home on DVD, and asked if she wanted to watch it. She asked if he wanted to watch it with her, and so they did, in the evening, after Lysa had already gone to bed.

Sansa remembered thinking how well timed it was, for the phone to ring just minutes after the credits had started rolling. She'd even laughed at it.

The man who made that call was the one who told her her mother and brother were dead.


	22. The Lions Den

Her Father was dead. Old news.

Her Mother and brother were dead. New news. The top story on every news channel.

Her sister was officially listed as missing. A picture of her from her fourteenth birthday party was the one they showed on screen, one that Sansa recognised had once sat in a frame on the mantle of her old home. She wondered if Arya was dead now too. Her calls had stopped coming, or at least that's what the Lannister's told her. They'd taken away her phone, and her laptop. The lies Sansa had told about her sisters running away was how Cersei justified seizing them. 

She recognised the pictures they'd used of her two little brothers too, and had run to he toilet to be sick when they showed the two small body bags being carried away on stretchers, and the empty look on Theon Greyjoys face as he was hauled into the back of a police car.

She was the only Stark left, she realised, and the next two months of her life were both a wild chaos, and an eerie calm.

The eerie calm is what she slipped into. She just begun to disconnect from it. Almost like she wasn't even there. The chaos just happened around her. Things like this didn't happen. Not to people like her. Not to families who used to fight over who got to sit in the bean bag chair, who cheered each other on at junior soccer matches, who used to say grace at dinner when they were all together every night. Was that a long time ago, or a short one? she couldn't decide. It felt like both.

All at once there were so many cameras, and news outlets and phone calls. The press was relentless.

'A massacre' was what all the papers said. A blood bath. Names that were emboldened on papers right next to issues of teen vogue and a chip stand on the streets of London. The sight was so common in the first few weeks, but now it all began to taper off. Like it had all just been entertainment, fodder to sell a magazine, or spike the ratings on a news channel. Now everyone was forgetting, moving on, getting back to their lives. Her families tragedy was just a story to them, not a reality. She couldn't forget. Couldn't even fathom moving on.

The Lannister's had taken her back. They made it legal. Cersei was her legal guardian now.

That can happen, Petyr explained, back in the court house when it all started spiralling out of control. She'd cried and clutched at him as it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, it wasn't what she wanted, why was nobody listening to her, she'd sobbed. The next of kin isn't wasn't stated in Ned or Cat's wills, the guardianship can be contested, all these stupid, stupid things Petyr had said to her even as she barely understood it all. He said they'd tried for custody, him and Lysa, and even Jon, as futile as it seemed, they all tried, but it was in vain. Lysa had a history of relying on medication, something Sansa never knew about, something that was enough to have her deemed unfit enough. Jon was only twenty one, and living in a run down flat with three other friends. 

Cersei had been looking after Sansa already, been the last one known to be entrusted with her care, and had children of a similar age. Everyone vouched for her, everyone had only ever known Sansa to enjoy her boyfriend Joffrey, and her friend Myrcella, and her days spent at their home. They thought they were doing her good, but they barely gave Sansa a chance to tell them it had all changed. Petyr said that they wouldn't want to know. It wasn't about what she wanted, this was the way of it, the Lannister's got what they wanted and for reasons Sansa still didn't understand, they wanted her. He told her they had a shameful amount of money to spend bribing judges and court officials. The Lannister's had never lost a court case, and their scandals had never come to light. That's what being one of the richest families in the country could buy you. 

Bribery. Massacres. All this madness was her life and it barely comprehended anymore.

They'd pulled her out of school too. It was too much for her, Cersei had told them, all this emotional distress, the attention from classmates. It was better if Sansa could be given her class work to do at home. Home where they could keep an eye on her, she knew. 

She had a lavish room, the in-home chef made her any food she wanted, Cersei took her shopping with Myrcella and bought her new shoes, and told her she wanted to see her smile, but even as Cersei seemed sweet, it was as if Sansa still felt suffocated. Cersei was not an idiot. How would people believe Sansa if she tried to tell them how scared she felt in this house, when by all accounts she being kept in a loving home, being doted on. If you only glanced, and didn't really look, it would all seem lovely. Sansa was in a lovely prison, she thought, when she noticed her calls being listened too, when she was told she could only leave the house with the prescence of a security guard. For her own safety, Cersei told her.

Then there was Joffrey. Joffrey was something else all together.

And Petyr had just stood there and watched on the steps of the court house, as Cersei had a red clawed hand on her shoulder, guiding her into the car, where Sansa had heard the locks click down as the doors shut behind her.

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Another month passed. Sansa sat in the empty theatre room, staring at the blank screen that was almost the size of the wall, clutching a chinchilla fur blanket which was as ridiculously opulent as it was soft. She'd come in here with a mind to watch a movie, but somehow she'd found herself simply sitting on one of the vast leather sofas and simply sitting, curled up, wishing she could be a girl in a movie. Not an actress, an actual girl from a movie. Like Holly Golightly, or Elle woods, or any of the other pretty girls whos problems could be solved and who men fell in love with.

Then their was the creak of the door and a touch of giggling, and Sansa stared over the back of the sofas to see Tyrion, and a dark haired maid he led in by the hand.

“Is my Lion feeling fierce today?”

“More than fierce, my girl, I can't even wait till we're upstairs, not when you look at me like that, you-”

The maid noticed her first, Shae, Sansa remembered her name. She was one of the ones that Cersei sent to check on her most, to see that she was still tucked away in her room.

She immediately jumped away from Tyrion with a squeak of surprise, and Tyrion's face dropped from flirtatious to pained within seconds of spotting Sansa.

There was a moment of un-sure silence, though Sansa was the least phased.

He was still kind to her, she supposed. Still kinder than the others, though that was a pretty low bar, but Cersei had told him about what Lysa had said, about how Sansa had 'confessed' how he'd been inappropriate with her. He gave her a wide birth as of now, and when they did meet eyes, he almost looked hurt. Sansa would have felt more sorry for the lie she hadn't even created, if he hadn't been one of them.

“Oh....hello.” Tyrion feigned a casual voice, arms swaying awkwardly at his sides “Didn't see you there. Thought the room was empty...what with the silence, and what not....”

He was trying to be funny, as he usually tried to be, but Sansa didn't say anything. Three months here, she was used to not saying anything. She'd simply figured out it was easier that way.

“Shae, run along, I'm sure something needs to be dusted upstairs.” he said, and the maid left, relieved to be able to scamper away. Sansa had the feeling she made the maids somewhat uncomfortable. They knew what was happening, they simply skirted around the sullen girl with the dead family and the dead eyes, who watched them, almost daring them to comment on the bruises that had started to show up on her arms.

Sansa watched as he approached her almost cautiously, the door shutting behind them. Sansa turned her head to face the blank screen again.

He pulled himself up onto the end of the sofa and sighed, theatrically. 

“So....about that.” he started, but Sansa wanted to make this quick.

“I already knew you were sleeping with her.”

Tyrion's lips went thin.

“....did you?....how?” 

She shrugged, rudely, and he squirmed uncomfortably. Good.

“Please, please...tell me you're just an observant little thing, and not that this is common gossip among other maids, or god forbid, any one of my family-”

She shrugged again, stroking the chinchilla blanket.

“Sansa,” he tried to be threatening now, but Sansa was hardly scared. What could he do to her that Joffrey was not already doing? He wouldn't hit her, she knew. Only Joffrey was allowed to do that, he'd made that clear to the household.

“Sansa, please, if everyone knows about Shae, she might have to leave, and she doesn't have her visa, she might not get other work-”

Sansa listened. She liked Shae. She brought her snacks from the pantries, even after Cersei had put her on a diet, to make sure she didn't binge herself and put on weight as sad girls are want to do, in the woman's own words.

“Petyr told me.” She admitted as easily as she'd hid it “I don't know who he heard it from.” 

Tyrion seemed to take half a minute to process this “Petyr? You mean Petyr Baelish?”

She nodded.

He drank this in, and cursed “Sleazy bastard.”

“He is not.” Sansa found herself saying, on impulse, and the words were sharp and biting.

Tyrion held up his hands in defence “Hey, easy....I meant no offence.” he seemed surprised at her reaction “I know he's your...sort of uncle, in a legally binding kind of way.”

“He married my Aunt. That makes him family to me.”

Tyrion smiled sadly. Pityingly “Yes, some of the last of it you have...” he trailed off on that thought, before his hand reached out gingerly to touch her arm. She flinched and he drew it away quick.

“Look, Sansa....I am sorry about....all of this, I am.”

“No you're not.” she mumbled “Otherwise you'd let me leave.....I want to leave.”

He laughed, but not with humour. Sansa found Tyrion had a laugh for every occasion, for every mood of his, and this one was full of frustration “And if I had any say over what went on in this house, I would let you, but I don't. It's my father.....sister. Joffrey. I only take up space, what I think or want doesn't factor into anything.”

He can't look past his own nose, Sansa thought, resentfully. He acts as if he feels sorry for me, when it quickly turns into feeling sorry for himself.

“Besides....as strict as this household is, I wouldn't think it any better for you to be in Lysa and Petyr's care.”

“Why not?” she rose to the statement, defensive.

He sighed “Well, he's not....he's just....I know you may be attached to him in the sense that you consider him family, but I doubt you really know him. What he is....what he does.”

A horrible feeling pooled in Sansa's stomach, wanting to hear more, but not at the same. He'll lie, or he'll get it wrong, he's a Lannister, and he doesn't know anything of how kind Petyr was to her.

“I know him better than you,” she tried to say with confidence, even as it felt like a lie “I wanted to stay with him...and Lysa, and Robin. My family.” she added quickly.

Tyrion looked like he was wrestling with all the words in his head, carefully choosing what ones would leave his mouth.

“Please, just...trust me when I say he is not a good man. I don't want to upset you but-”

“He is a good man,” Sansa insisted “he was kind to me.”

Tyrion's eyes flashed at that “Yes, I'm sure he was.” He muttered in a way Sansa didn't like at all.

No, what did he know. He was a Lannister, a drinker, someone who fucked the maids, why would she even listen to him. He was only saying all this so she wouldn't run away like Arya, so it made staying here seem better. He thought she was stupid. As if he could sway her mind with such vague accusations and not a word to back it up. She wasn't even going to stick around to see if he would try and lie to her anymore, and so the chinchilla blanket was thrown off her lap, and Sansa left him there alone in the theatre room, not bothering to utter a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Petyr this chapter, I'm so sorry, I really am.
> 
> But by getting these scenes out of the way, I promise that the next chapter will be longer and MUCH more interesting. I need to showcase the passing of time, and the growing desperation of being stuck in the Lannister household, that would cause Sansa to do something as reckless as sneaking out to find Petyr's club next chapter....


	23. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so guess who under estimated my wooOOOooord cooount hmmmmmmm.
> 
> So, the mockingbird isn't in THIS chapter, exactly, but know that it will be soon. So I lied, but also this was a quick update, and the next update will be very quick too. Try to think of it as all the excitement....broken down into smaller, fast delivered, bites.....sorry.

Sansa huddled low to the floor, eyes screwed shut, bracing herself against the blows that came down hard on her back, her ribs, everywhere that wasn't her face. She was sure he had been told not to bruise her face.

She didn't even know what is was about this time. She'd only been in her room, flipping through magazines, when he'd stormed in and without a word had grabbed her.

She'd cried out, asking him what was wrong, that she hadn't done anything, but it wasn't as if he cared to listen. Sansa was sure she saw a flash of a figure peer in from down the hall, it may have been Cersei, it may have been Jamie, it could have been anyone. Whoever it was didn't care to walk in and stop him.

They were all scared of him, she realised, just as she was. He wasn't right, they could all see it. She'd heard hushed gossip from Shae that they'd tried sending him to therapy, school councillors, all when Robert was alive, for all the good it did him. Now Joffrey was older, and he couldn't be forced to do anything. Everyone catered to him and his moods. His temper. Tommen had once whispered how Joffrey had put his kitten in the washing machine when they were younger. They all said it was just boyful mischief gone wrong, but they used that excuse when he 'accidentally' broke Myrcella's wrist when fighting over the tv remote, when he pushed the maids too roughly, when he made the chef eat dog food when he'd prepared his dinner the way he didn't like it. The more and more you paid attention, the more and more stories people told. Perhaps they were all glad she was the new scapegoat, she thought. Better her than me.

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Hours later, sore and bruised, Sansa sat alone in her room.

It turned out someone had deleted some tv programs he'd recorded on the Sky box. That's all it was. It hadn't been her, but that hardly mattered now.

Then, out of nowhere, great, fat, tears started rolling down her cheeks, and Sansa found herself sobbing.

She couldn't cry in front of Joffrey. 'My Father died too, you know' he would spit at her, whenever he caught her wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. She didn't want to cry in front of anyone else. Hell, she was sick of looking at her own tear stained face. Sick, sick, sick of it, sick of him, sick of them, sick of being here and being this pathetic. That's what she was, she hiccuped through a thick sob, pathetic. Arya wouldn't sit here and cry and take this, she would hit Joffrey back. Scratch and bite at him and run away. She had run away even. She was the fearless one. Even now Sansa could only imagine striking back at Joffrey. She'd never thrown a punch in her life. What damage would she even manage to do, before he could deliver it back three times over? And then what? Would he break her wrist, make her eat dog food? Cersei would be livid too, maybe lock her in her room, stop her from even leaving with the guards, take more and more from her. She could never get away with such a thing.

Sansa screwed up her eyes and hated how her mind ruined it. How she couldn't think of anything to do but to sit here and cry over everything. It was only now starting to settle in as reality, that this was the new way of things. It hadn't seemed real at first. Surely things would get better, they just would, someone would help her, they'd notice what was happening and stop it....but they had noticed....but it was only going to keep happening.

Unless she could stop being pathetic. Unless she was more like Arya.

It was then that Sansa felt herself stop crying almost at once. Something took over her sadness, took over her completely. A kind of resolve.

With one last sniff and wipe at her eyes, she was off her bed, and over to her cupboards.

Her pyjamas were wrenched off and she dug through her clothes. Black, she thought. I need to wear black.

The only jeans she'd packed and had with her were pale blue, so instead she pulled on a pair of black tights, and even if it was cold out at this time, she had to go with her black dress over the top as it was the only other dark clothing she owned. It wasn't any less practical than pastel pink dresses and pretty blouses.

A bag, the biggest one she could find. Clothes, her nightie, toothbrush, makeup, socks, purse, as much as she could fit was shoved in. She didn't have much anyway, and she left her heels and her books and her old uniform, they didn't seem important now. Her mind was running like someone else's. Think practically she thought. The plan was coming to her as she scrambled around her room.

She still had her money, tucked away, enough for a train ticket. She'd just get on, she thought, who cares where it took her, as long as it was away. Their was uncle Edmure, or great uncle Brynden. She didn't know their addresses, not off by heart, but she knew it was in the lake district. The school her grandfather had owned, she'd ask where that was and go there, they'd know how to get her in contact with them.

With a place to go, her mind raced as to how she could get out without being seen. It was ten pm, pitch black outside, if she got through the gardens no one would see her.

But the fence. The security guards. She was sure their were cameras all around the perimeter. It really was like a prison.

Movies, Sansa thought. How do teenagers always sneak out at night in Movies. The window.

She grabbed her bag, glad to feel that it was still light with what little she'd brought, and pulled up the window, leaning out of the frame. It was a two storey drop down into the bushes below.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, she thought for a mad second, but as soon she sat on the ledge half way out the window she got the shakes and backed away.

For a long few minutes she sat there, half in, half out of that window, hands gripping the frame. Sansa Stared out across the richest suburb in England, at the other houses, the tall tree's in their yards, at the city beyond in the distance.

Then she looked across, and her eyes fell on to the small garden green house that sat here at the back of the house, where the groundskeepers kept all their equipment for maintaining the Lannister's opulent garden.

Her eyes darted above it, and if she was right, the window above it was the window to Tyrion's bedroom, she was sure of it. If only she could be at that window, she could climb down onto the garden house roof, slide down and run across the lawn to the wall. Their was a back gate to the property, that's where she'd head too. Their were key cards used to open them without setting off the alarm, she recognised the ones Cersei and Joffrey had. If she had one of those, they wouldn't even know she'd slipped out.

Tyrion's room. If she was going to get out that way, she would grab his key card. It'd be in his wallet. Find that, easy, it all seemed possible, just get to Tyrion's room.

Another few minutes of apprehension were outweighed by the pounding in her ears. Don't be pathetic, just do it, do it, think like Arya. Arya could climb out a window and down a garden house no second thought.

Sansa switched off her light as she crept around her bedroom door, into the darkened hall.

She could hear the sounds of a TV lightly drifting from downstairs. Most likely Jamie or Cersei. Good, they were at the front of the house. She was nervous at being spied through the windows. She was nervous about everything as she stepped out and crept down towards Tyrion's room, glad the hall was carpeted, so her footsteps couldn't be heard.

Tyrion was always up at this hour, somewhere else in the house. Drinking in the den, up late on his office computer, either, or. Sansa knew him to go to bed as late as one in the morning, sleeping in till the afternoon.

She pushed open his door, and her whole body froze as she heard a surprised “Hello?”

His lights were on, that was Tyrion's voice, he was in his room, Sansa's mind screamed at her.

She was quick enough to drop her back behind the door, as Tyrion was suddenly before her, staring up at her, half dressed in his pyjamas, looking bemused.

“Sansa?”

“Oh, oops,” her mind worked in a kind of panicked efficiency “Wrong room, was just coming back from the loo. Sorry.”

“Dressed in that?” he stared at her black dress and tights.

“Yes, well....the full length mirror. I was just messing about with outfits....Joffrey's birthdays coming up soon. Trying to think what to wear.”

“Ah, right. 'Mirror selfies' that's what all you girls put up on facebook these days, isn't it?” he nodded, as if knowingly, and Sansa smiled and nodded along too.

“Yep. Hope it get's lots of likes.” she laughed through her nerves, thinking that he must have forgotten both her phone and access to facebook has been taken away.

“I'm sure it will,” he smiled “Goodnight, and remember, your's is the third door down the hall, not the second.”

“Yes, again, really sorry. Night.” she made sure too look sheepish, as the door was shut on her.

Then she hurried back to her room to curse. She slumped against her own door, still in the dark, her heart not quite back to a normal beat rate.

This was stupid, she was stupid, how could she even think of doing this, she was going to get caught, of course she was.......but as she sat there, she breathed. She breathed and she calmed herself.

She was dressed, her bag packed, her plan in her head. She couldn't just go back to bed now. How could she wake up and face tomorrow, when for the past half hour her heart had been soaring with the idea of escape. Adrenaline, that's what must be coursing through her, almost making her think more clearly as she sat there and steeled herself. Don't listen to the doubts in your head, that's pathetic Sansa, don't be here, be Arya.

The idea came to her all of a sudden, and Sansa acted on it before she could talk herself out of it.

Again she crept out to the hall. She braved her way down the opposite end of the landing, where she knew there was one of the many home phones on a trestle table. 

All the phones in the house were connected, the place was so big, sometimes you really did need to use a phone just to call someone who happened to be on the third storey if you were in the kitchen, and under the phones speed dial, they were all listed. Sansa picked up the phone and dialled the downstairs hall number.

It was picked up by one of the maids.

“Hello, Lannister house hold.” Came the foreign accent. Good, Sansa thought. The Lannister's hired half their staff illegally, many of them couldn't read English well yet. Hopefully she hadn't seen the caller ID.

“Yes, Hello,” she did her best American accent, impersonated from all the TV she'd seen “I need to speak to Tyrion Lannister, please.”

“I, ah, yes, I can go get him for you. One moment.”

Luck, luck, luck. Sansa breathed as she put the phone down on the table off the hook, pressing herself flat around the corner wall. 

She waited, hearing the maid come up the stairs, heard her walk and knock on Tyrion's door. He answered, annoyed.

“A phone call? At this hour? Did you ask who was calling?” 

The maid had sounded nervous, apologising, as Tyrion mumbled on about making sure to ask next time, though he followed her regardless.

Once they sounded out of sight, Sansa peered round, made sure they had disappeared down the stairs, before hurrying to his bedroom, almost not believing what she was doing.

She got inside his room and immediately she scanned for his wallet. Over to his desk, nothing, his bedside table, nothing, she looked over everything.

His room was large, but rather sparse, besides all the piles of neatly arranged books, so many they couldn't fit on his shelves. He had a bar cabinet, but there was no wallet their either. Sansa began to panic, she did not have long. If she was a man, where would she put her wallet?

Her mind flashed, and she dove for a pair of pants that hung over the end of his bed, and Sansa breathed a held sigh of relief as she pulled out his wallet from the back pocket. Opening it, she grabbed the key card she needed, and on a second thought, the wad of cash that was in their too. He was a Lannister, they were hardly strapped, she didn't feel bad about it. She was about to live a life on the run, and she didn't want to live in a McDonalds or go hitchhiking like her sister had been forced too.

It was as she turned around, she heard a flush come from the en-suite bathroom, and Sansa's blood ran cold. She had the wallet in her hand and ran to the window, pulling it up as fast as she could, not worrying if she was loud anymore, but just as she swung her leg out, fear coursing through her, the bathroom door opened, and a figure stopped dead when she spotted her.

Shae and Sansa locked eyes, the both of them stood there like deers in the headlights.

It was a tense few seconds, and Sansa wondered if she could plead with Shae not to tell, not to get her into trouble, if she begged she might not. 

“Please-” Her voice cracked, scared, but she scarcely got the word out as Shae hurried over to her.

“Hurry, don't slip.” was all the girl whispered, as she helped hold the window up, so Sansa could step out onto the garden house.


	24. The Mockingbird

After what felt like an hour of wandering around the dark, hardly recognisable streets of London, Sansa had to admit that she was lost.

She hadn't thought of how hard this was going to be without her phone. No google maps, no telling the time, no way of checking bus and train times...

She'd been alright for awhile, making her way out of Knightsbridge. She knew her way around the streets well enough, and there were enough land marks around for her to keep track off. Past the palace gardens, and Royal Albert hall, all the way up Kensington road, it was just one long straight line for awhile....then she'd spotted a car that she swore looked exactly like the one Jamie Lannister drove. It was close enough to make her worry, and to decide that she would stick to back streets, not the main ones. She was going exactly the way they'd think she'd go, Sansa thought, thinking she was being clever diverging down a side street. Sansa could have sworn that if she'd just turn down this way, and keep walking parallel to the main road, she'd come out on the street she was picturing in her head. Not that she knew the name of it, but she knew what it looked like...except she kept walking and walking, coming to the ends of streets, and not seeing anything familiar. So she'd try again, just keep walking, it'll be the street around that corner, but no. More un-familiar streets. Then she'd walk some more and come across something she did recognise, like the Prada boutique, but if she was outside of Prada, then she was a long way off where she thought she would be, and realised she must have done some kind of loop, or a double back, she didn't know.

This was all to get to Kings Cross station. She thought it would be closer than this. It didn't take that long to drive there, but again, she didn't want to follow the route she could recognise from the back of the car window, as that would mean risking the main streets. What if Shae had ended up telling? What if Cersei had people out looking for her right now? Sansa powered on down foot path after footpath, keeping her bag close as she walked past anybody, her head down, the sounds of the city all around. She had a mind to get on the bus, but then she thought she shouldn't waste money, not when she was sure the station had to be close. She just kept walking, walking, walking.

“Hey,”

She heard a man call out, but this was London, people were loud, she minded her own business.

“Hey...hey!”

Sansa turned around, and surprised, she realised the calling out was directed at her. A man, a group of them, but only one was looking directly at her, a horrible drunk smile on his face.

“Hey, yeah, you there, love.” he said. Well, slurred, more like.

No, no, no please, Sansa grimaced as the man dodged cars to cross the road, just to come over to her, and Sansa didn't quite feel the need ro run, but she didn't stop walking either. His friends were hollering out, and drunk laughter from a pack of adult men was one of those sounds that just inspired a sense of dread.

“Oi, where you going, gorgeous? Where you going?” she could hear him behind her, and she turned, trying to smile.

“Just to the station,” she said, curtly.

“Aw, nah, going home? Where you going? Come out with us, come on, we're good company, promise. You'd have a good time with us, love, you would.” he rambled, and Sansa laughed. Some kind of nervous reflex.

“No, no thank you.” she hurried her steps.

“Awww, come on,” his voice got whinier “Just one drink, love, I'll even buy it for ya', whatever you like? What's a girl like you like, bit of moscato? Something classy? You look classy there, love, you are fucking gorgeous.”

“Really, just....No, sorry.” she tried to be polite about it, but this man was obviously not easily deterred, especially as his mates started to laugh as they could see he was being turned down.

“Come on, please? Give a guy a chance, I'm a good guy, I just want to buy you a drink!”

“I said no, please, just leave me alone!” Sansa said quickly, and she may as well have flipped a switch.

“Oi! No need to get fucking rude, you fucking posh bird! fucking rude bitch, think you're too fucking good?!” it all slurred out of his mouth, and Sansa flinched, scared “Like you haven't sucked a dick for a fucking drink before, I bet you have, you're not that fucking pretty, I was just doing an ugly bitch a fucking favor by even looking at you!” 

he swore and ranted after her, hollering down the street as Sansa all but ran away from him his mob, shaken.

She was close to the night life now, everything got busier. More cars, more taxi's, more people. She kept checking over her shoulder, and she'd managed to lose that horrible man, but that doesn't mean the streets weren't filled with more of his kind. Other men called out to her, quick hello's, trying their luck as she walked past queues of people outside clubs, or smoking outside pubs. Now she just acted blind to them, speeding past, and one was quite as bad as that first man, but she still got the odd comment, and by now she was lost, and cold and close to tears.

After another time spent walking, she looked up and realised she'd past two different sex shops on the one street, and now she was stood outside an erotic book shop, and a massage parlour was across the road that had the window all blacked out, and Sansa really didn't think this was the right way at all.

Then she just decided to have a sit down. Right there, tucked in the alcove of a closed shop front, so all the city's night life could pass her by and not see her, or at least she hoped they wouldn't.

She watched them all blankly, half heartedly listening to their happy chatter, ears wary of anyone calling out a simple 'hey'. 

Maybe she was going to have to sleep here tonight, be some kind of tramp. Sansa didn't think she'd ever seen a homeless girl before, only old men. Then with a horrible thought, she imagined why girls her age weren't really on the streets. They probably didn't last long.

When Arya did this she had that boy with her, she realised. She was stupid to do this at all, let alone by herself. She couldn't even find Kings Cross. She didn't even know if they'd have trains going to the Lake District at this hour. She didn't even know if her uncle Edmure, who she'd barely ever seen except for a few christmas parties, would even want to look after her. He would probably just hand her back to Cersei, since legally, she was her guardian now, and she'd be asking him to break the law by taking her in and....and....oh, this was so stupid. She was so, so stupid.

London was too busy tonight to take notice of one, crying girl, huddled up in a closed shop front, and Sansa didn't know how long she sat there, telling herself she'd get up when her feet were a little less sore, or when she could work up the nerve to ask someone for directions. But for now she just sat.

The one thing that brought her out of her slump, was a passing conversation held by another group of men stood not far away from her at all. Three of them had come from the left of the street, and another two had come from the right, and now they were all slapping each others backs in greeting, all together now and ready to start their night.

Sansa only listened in because she was wary. Don't talk to me, don't talk to me, she chanted, knowing if they tried too, she would just get up and hurry away, no hesitation.

But they seemed alright. Posher accents than the men before, younger too. Dressed nicely, she noted, no open drinks in their hand. Then she heard one of them say-

“-he managed to book us a table at the Mockingbird, absolute legend.”

Then Sansa was even more alert, brain whirring all of a sudden.

“Yeah, we're meeting Matt there, and I don't know if I should invite Andrew though, because I know he's at the pub now, but I think he has his girlfriend with him, and I don't know if she'd want to-” the young man rambled on, just as the group of them started ambling their way down the street, and Sansa found herself standing up too.

Follow them, she told herself. The Mockingbird. Petyr's club, it had to be, she'd go there.

She started after the group of boys, trailing behind them, and she reached into her bag for her purse, where her heart beat fast, realising she had the silver card she'd taken all that time ago with her.

They didn't notice the quiet girl following them, but Sansa didn't let the boys out of her sight, and it turned out to be only a short walk anyway. It couldn't have been five minutes before they were down a laneway, where Sansa saw a queue forming at a set of doors, which the boys joined.

She paused and looked for a sign, but there was none.

Nervously, she looked at the long queue to get in, and the two bouncers that flanked the doors.

Sansa edged up to one of them, and even though she was tall, the man was massive enough for her to have to look up.

“Excuse me, is this the Mockingbird? Like, the club?”

He turned, eyebrow raised, looking her up and down.

“Yeah...like, the club.” he nodded

“Oh, good,” Sansa smiled “Um, so, I know theres a line, but I'm actually just here to see my uncle, he owns it actually, and I just need to speak to him, so could you maybe just let me in instead-” but he cut her off with a laugh, and the other bouncer took notice of her too.

“Are you on the list?” the other leant over to ask. Sansa saw he had a clipboard in his hands.

Sansa gaped “Well, no, I wouldn't be, I didn't really plan on visiting or-” 

“Ok, sorry. Can't help you if you're not on the list, you've got to get in the queue, and I can't promise you'll get in until-” he checked his watch “Maybe in a couple of hours.” 

“A couple of hours!” Sansa cried “But I told you...my uncle. Petyr. Petyr Baelish,” she name dropped, trying to prove she wasn't just lying, but she noticed that they were shaking their heads, thinking she was being funny. They weren't buying it. 

“No, look, move on sweetheart, this isn't working. You're not gonna' get in, unless you're on the list.” said the first burly bouncer, condescendingly.

Sansa then held up the card “But I've got a VIP card, look!” and when he caught sight of that, his smile dropped.

“Uh....Dan?” he muttered, unsure, turning to the bouncer with the clipboard, and his expression changed too as he looked up and saw what Sansa held in her hand.

There were a solid few seconds as they just stared at the card, then at Sansa, then at each other.

Gingerly one of them took the card from Sansa's hand and held it up under the streetlight, squinting at it.

“It looks real...” he said “I mean...if she has it...?”

“Where'd you get this?” the other seemed more suspicious, but she could see a trace of nerves in the both of them. If what Myranda told her was true, this card made her a very, very important person. I mean, she didn't look like a very important person, and she supposed they were doing their jobs right by being suspicious since technically she did steal it...but....desperate times call for desperate measures, and desperate lies. She'd already pinched money from a mans wallet, this was hardly the worst thing she'd done all night.

“It's mine, I only got it the other day, and I if you don't let me in I'll...complain to management,” she said “And tell them about this complete lack of proper customer service.” she added for good measure.

They let her in, although very hesitantly, still exchanging looks with each other, and watching her as she stalked her way inside, trying to look in anyway like a VIP.

When the doors closed behind her, she could hear the thrum of a crowd ahead of her, but for now she was in a narrow hall with a velvet carpeted stair case. The walls were covered in what looked like velvet wallpaper, in an elaborate paisley print.

“Check you're coat,” came the voice of a girl, and the outfit took Sansa aback. She was very pretty, with a very tiny waist cinched into a black silk bustier, with a fringed hem that counted as somewhat of a skirt, which shimmied as she walked like some kind of nineties twenties flapper girl. Her hair and makeup were dark too, and Sansa noticed a girl with the exact same black bob and outfit stood off to the side, and Sansa knew it must be some kind of uniform. They both had matching feathered wings adorning their head as fascinators. Little mockingbirds.

“Oh, no...I''m fine thank you.” she wandered past them, up the stairs, the noise growing louder as she left them behind.

At the top of the stairs, it was as sumptuous as the entry way.

This wasn't a club as she pictured it, all neon lights and dance floors. This was like...like something out of a film. The moulin rouge, an old bordello, an old time theatre, all velvet and warm lights and the colour red.

It was busy, and Sansa had to watch herself bumping into people, as she stared. Sansa looked over to see a long bar, and the girls carrying trays of drinks were gorgeous too, all in black bobbed wigs, with the feathered fascinators. There was a stage, and dancers, all in a line, choreographed moves. The girls had candy coloured wigs on, pale pink, baby blue, mint green, all cut pixie short, and they wore nothing but bodysuits covered in scattered diamonds that shone under the lights, with tassels hanging off their nipples as they moved in unison. Gyrated. Roamed hands over each other and themselves, bending over, doing the splits, shimmying....men and women alike were enraptured watching the dancers perform. Tables filled all the way throughout the room, and Sansa looked and saw more women in dazzling costumes, filtering their way over the normal, average looking people, standing out as they huddled up close to some, even sat on the laps of others.

One girl was entirely topless, her breasts pushed in the face of a very eager looking man. The women took his glass of champagne from his hand and poured it over his chest, laughing as he licked the alcohol of her body, his friends all cheering, putting money down on the table.

Sansa only stared. Her mind wasn't quite catching up yet, and she jumped as she felt a hand touch at her arm, spinning around to come face to face with none other than Petyr.

“Now, would you like to tell me what you're doing here, and how you came about that card?”


	25. Employees only

Sansa was all but dragged through the club.

His grip was not hard around her arm, and she followed along willingly, but dragged was still the right word. The first thing she'd blurted out was that she'd run away, and he had paused for a moment, and quickly decided that this wasn't to be discussed here. Petyr was quick to get her to the side of the room, past darkened corners, and patrons who paid them hardly any notice, and Sansa thought of all the things she could say, but right now it felt wise to be quiet.

She didn't know where the door had come from, she didn't think she even saw a handle, but all of a sudden they stopped walking along the back wall of the club, and she was pulled into a narrow hall.

It was decorated differently to the rest of the club. The wooden floorboards were varnished dark, and the walls were painted deep red, and the only light came from sparse lanterns hung from the ceilings, their glows dull and warm. The music and sounds of the crowds were completely muffled once the door, wall, shut behind them, and it almost felt stifling.

Sansa stood there, feeling sheepish under Petyr's surprisingly calm gaze.

“My concerned staff came to me about a young girl holding a silver mockingbird card, demanding her way into see me.” he said “I was surprised at the idea of any young girl holding such a card, and even more surprised when they told me the girl claimed I was her uncle. Not many girls could claim that.”

Sansa had to drop her eyes to the floor “Are you mad?”

“Yes,” he said “you're here without Cersei knowing, and if she finds out.... do you know how much trouble that would cause me? I've already tempted Cersei wrath once over you, I'm not keen to do it again....honestly, I don't know what you were thinking, coming here-”

“I hadn't planned too!” she said, her heart seizing in her chest over the idea that he was angry with her “I ran away thinking I'd get on train, like Arya did, and I'd go see my Uncle Edmure up in the Lake district, but I couldn't find the station, and I was lost, and there was an awful man who yelled at me and called me a posh bitch, and I was outside a sex book shop, and I heard some boys talking about your club, and I followed them, and-”

Petyr held up his hands to the verbal assault, as her voice started to crack under the strain of a hard night and a hard stare “Ok, ok, don't upset yourself, no crying, please stop the tears, I've never been able to handle tears. I wan't to be mad at you, understand? And I can't be mad at you with your lip trembling like that, so stop it at once.”

He managed to make her laugh even as she had to wipe some more at her face, sure she looked a state. Then he sighed as he looked at her.

“Now....did anyone see you? Have you told anyone you came here?”

“No....well, Shae saw me leave the Lannister's, but that's it!”

Petyr nodded “As long as she has no idea this was where you'd head too....god, I'm going to have to talk to those two idiots on the door, letting in an underage girl, no matter who you may be. If anyone see's you here, recognises you, I'm the one who gets the blame.”

Sansa hadn't thought of that “I'm sorry....I don't want you to get into trouble, I just....I didn't think.”

“Yes, well. You barely made it in the door before I reached you, so hopefully nobody will find out.” then he drew in a very deep breath “So....you've run away....you've run away, and what to do with you now...” he seemed to process the idea through his head as he muttered it out loud “Look. Give me a few minutes. I have a group of men here for a birthday celebration, and they're all stupidly important in some way or another, and expect special attention. So let me get them drunk and sorted, and then we'll talk. We'll figure this out, alright? How does that sound?”

All Sansa could do was nod.

“Good girl. Now, I wont have you wait here,” he led her down the hall and around a corner, where there was a staircase “Go up four flights, to the top floor, just keep going up as high as you can. There's a door, and it's a private area. There's a tv and sofas, a fridge. I'll be up as soon as I can.”

“Ok,” Sansa started up the stairs, watching as he stood down the bottom. She wanted to have him assure her now that he wasn't going to send her back, right now, make him swear he wouldn't...

“Petyr?” she called out just as he started back down the hall. He turned back to look up at her and she saw him as he was; her last chance.

“Please....promise me you won't send me back to them.”

He paused before he answered.

“I'll promise to help you how I can.”

Sansa climbed up the narrow staircase, hoping he wouldn't be long after her. Maybe this was good, it would give her a moment to think. To build an argument, compose herself. 'I'll help you how I can' she repeated in her head, something in her gut twisting as she realised that wasn't quite the promise she wanted.

At the top of the first flight of stairs, there was only a small landing with a door, and the same thrum behind it from downstairs. The second landing was much the same, only the music on the other side of the door was quieter, and more chatter could be heard. The third landing was much different. It was open and spacious, decorated and as dimly lit as the club, but with nothing but a wide hall dotted with shut doors. It was as if she'd suddenly come upon a floor of a hotel, rather than one of a club. She stopped and stared down, curiously and counted maybe eight doors in total, but then she heard a click, and a door at the end opened, making Sansa fly up the last of the stair cases. She didn't want to seem like a nose about. Petyr said he didn't want anyone seeing her either.

As she went up she saw their were no more landings, small or strange. There was just a plain wooden door and nowhere else to go but back down. It had a small placard on it 'Private: employees only'.

She'd half expected it to be some kind of break room, or an office. That's what Petyr made it sound like anyway, but as she made her way in, Sansa saw that it was a living room. The walls were covered in antique faded looking wallpaper, and the sofas were red and velvet, covered in mismatched cushions, blue and green and tasseled. There were about three different types of worn Persian rugs that covered old timber floors. It could have looked quite opulent, in a bohemian kind of way, if there weren't stacks of gossip magazines sprawled all over the floor, with take out bags, and a cat bed next to a radiator that had about five pair of knickers drying over it.

There was a TV on, only a snooker tournament on at this hour, and Sprawled out on the sofa in a dressing gown and some low riding boxer briefs was a man who was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Can I help you?” he said, not entirely politely.

“I....um”

This was a mistake. This was a flat. This was someones home, surely. Sansa glanced around and could see a small kitchenette off to one side, a small table covered in the mess of a finished dinner, and beyond a beaded curtain were more rooms. And this man was looking at her like she was an intruder.

“I....I was told to wait up here. By Petyr, he said he'll be up in a minute, he told me to come up by myself and wait-” 

“Ah” the man fell back against the cushions “Say no more, you're alright. Sorry, but you'd be surprised how many drunks just wander in here, I swear, the bouncers are rubbish”

He couldn't be that old, Sansa thought. Maybe mid twenties. He was good looking, and she could see a lot of him with his robe open like that, but he didn't seem to be embarrassed being caught out in his underwear.

Then he just went back to watching snooker.

She stood there, clutching her bag, glancing around some more. It was an oddly mish-mashed mess.There were framed posters across the room of vintage looking burlesque girls, with a few old hand painted pin ups scattered around as well. They were at odds with the collection of polaroid camera pictures that were tacked up besides them, selfies and party photos, some posed, some rude. There was a grand father clock, except it was broken, and instead of a pendulum, there was a stack of CD's held in it's case. The coat rack held feather boa's, as well as the usual coats and scarves, and what looked like a leather body harness, complete with collar.

“You can sit down if you want” he offered.

Sansa gingerly stepped past an ironing board set up in the middle of the room, shifting a few piles of clothes to the side of a high back arm chair so she could perch on it's edge.

She sat there, not knowing what to do with herself, keeping her eyes on the snooker tournament, wishing Petyr would hurry up. There was a flush and a clattering from the back of the flat, and Sansa turned to see a women appear with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, and a pair of pink spotty pyjama pants and a weary looking tweety bird shirt. She spotted Sansa and may have looked slightly surprised, but that was quickly followed by a cheery smile.

“Oh, Hello?” she said, sounding perhaps a little surprised to see her, but friendly as she fussed over to the kitchen to grab something from the fridge.

“Hi” Sansa smiled, bag now clutched on her lap.

“New girl” muttered the guy on the sofa, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Thought so” the woman said “Did you want a drink? We've got water, coke, and apple and black current. Oh and some Ribena”

“Don't touch the Ribena, that's mine.”

“Ok, so we don't have any Ribena then”

“I'm fine, thanks” said Sansa, as the fridge slammed shut, and the woman came over to shove Olyvar down the sofa, so she could fit next to him, little kiddy sized apple and black current juice box in hand.

“So, what's your name, love? I'm Ros”

“And I'm Olyvar”

Ros tutted, fiddling with the plastic over her straw “ You mean you've had her sitting out here for how long, and you hadn't even introduced yourself?”

“Oi, she's only been here for like, two seconds!”

She had a Northern accent and very rosy cheeks, and Sansa decided that she liked Ros and her kind smile.

“I'm Sansa. Nice to meet you”

“Real name or fake name?”

She wasn't so sure if she liked Olyvar.

“What? I...it's my real name”

“Really? Doesn't sound like it. Is it Spanish?”

“I...I don't know. I'm not Spanish.”

“Didn't think so. Not that with that complexion.”

“Ignore him, it's a lovely name” Ros said “And how old are you, pet?”

“Seventeen”

Olyvar let out a low whistle “Far out. Did Petyr know that when he sent you up here?”

“Yes, he does” Sansa hurried to explain, they were looking at her a bit shocked “But he said it wouldn't be a big deal if no one found out I'm underage, and I won't tell-” 

Olyvar threw up his hands in defence “Fine, hey, it's not up to me, it's not my business”

“So,...you worked before?” Ros asked.

Sansa thought the question odd, but answered anyway “Oh, no...no, I've never had a job.”

Ros nodded “Right....so, why are you here then? If you don't mind my asking. I know, I'm a nosy nelly, I can't help it, it's just the way I am.”

Sansa supposed she should answer, this seemed Ros's home...flat....living space, whatever. Fair enough she wanted to know why she was here “Well, I kind of...ran away from where I was living....not from my family. They passed away, and the family I live with now is...not nice. Not all all....I didn't think I'd end up here, I really didn't, but I was wandering around the streets and I was desperate, and I managed to get in here and Petyr said he would help me.”

“Yup,” Piped Olyvar “The usual then.”

Sansa blinked, thinking her story not very usual at all, then noticing how scrutinising Ros's look suddenly was “And what did he say, really? It's just...I know he's got a way with his words, but have you thought this through? Your family might be missing you.”

“Roooos, none of your business” Olyvar interjected in a sing songy voice, but Ros shushed him.

“I told you, they're not really my family, and I'm not going back now, not if I can help it. Knowing I'm even here doing this will get me beaten bad enough.”

“Oh, love, but there's always lots of options out there for a young girl like you, even if theres trouble at home” Ros reached out to stroke at her hand, and Sansa didn't quite know how to react to that.

“You sound posh. Are you posh?” said Olyvar.

Sansa stared as her hand was stroked “I....um...”

“So is it because you need money?” Ros asked, ignoring Olyvar.

What did money have to do with it?

“No, I came...I told you I just need help.”

“But is this you're last option? Petyr might seem nice now, sweet heart, but I'm betting this isn't the best place for you.” she said, so concerned and gentle, and Sansa started to feel like she was missing something.

“I don't plan on staying here forever-”

“That's what they all say,” Said Olyvar “Just leave off her Ros, you always do this, always meddling with the new girls heads, trying to send 'em back out the door. You know Petyr will go off at you if you lose him another one.”

“But it's just she's so young! Are you even out of school yet?”

“I go...I mean, I went, to K.L private-” 

“Aha! Knew it! Posh! Posh as anything!” 

Ros stared at her in disbelief, again ignoring Olyvar “K.L private? What...I mean... fucks sake, love” Ros let out a little laugh “You must have left a damn well off family. What do you need to do this for? Why would you want too?”

Sansa wasn't processing anything right, nothing was making enough sense“What do you mean?” she said, pulling back her hand from Ros “What are you talking about, are we even....I know it was wrong to come here, but I'm sorry, I said I wouldn't do it again, not after tonight, I don't want to get into trouble, or get Petyr into trouble, and I'm sorry, I am, and I just-”

She was rambling as Ros held up her hands “Ok, ok, you've lost me. A bit Just...take a deep breath, I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Bambi!” Olyvar snapped his fingers over the both of them “That would be an amazing name for you. You've got the big eyes for it. Bambi Lolita even. Love it.

Sansa blinked her big eyes “...Bambi Lolita?”

“You said you didn't have a fake name yet, and if you don't want anyone finding out what your doing, your gonna need one, and Bambi Lolita just rolls off the tongue. See what Petyr says about it when he goes over the details with you, he'll probably tell you to use a fake name anyway”

Sansa was starting to think she and Olyvar were having different conversations entirely.

“Details?” was all she stammered out, feeling offended and confused in this bizarre semi-apartment with these bizarre people, who were not making any amount of sense.

“...About what you get paid? What you have to pay to him, how much he'll want you bringing in a month, how you can dress- he has a bit of a dress code and he's got a total rod up his ass about it- but he'll tell you all about the do's and don'ts, plus the rules the customers have to follow. Condoms, always, don't worry, and we supply them, you don't need to buy your own-”

“Condoms!?” Sansa laughed There were a lot of things in that sentence that needed addressing, but this seemed the most absurd “What in the hell would I need condoms for?!”

Ros and Olyvar both frowned at her.

“You...you don't use them? Jesus, do they even teach sex ed at K.L? Well, maybe they don't. I guess most of your classmates are wearing promise rings and acting like well proper ladies, not out here at the Mockingbird trying to be play at being a sex worker, or whatever it is your doing”

Sansa paused, Laughed again, and then stopped when she realised neither Ros or Olyvar were laughing with her.

Then it all made sense.

Fake names. The hall full of rooms. Bambi Lolita. The half naked girls dancing downstairs, the woman with her breasts out, the man flashing his money...

And then she felt very, very stupid.

“Oh my god, you're ….oh my god! Ooooh my god! No! No no no no no, I'm not....I'm..oh my god.”

Ros and Olyvar were the ones who looked confused now as Sansa covered her mouth with her hands, horrified, shocked, feeling like her mind was thinking too fast while simultaneously not having a single coherent thought.

That's when Petyr walked in. 

He didn't have a chance to speak before she did.

“Is this some kind brothel?!” she cried, spinning around in her chair.

He stood there. Paused. Shut the door behind him gently, glaring daggers at Olyvar and Ros as he did so, the room deathly silent.

“I thought you two would be out at this time of night.” he said, ignoring Sansa's gaping expression.

“Friends flaked on us last minute, we decided to stay in...” Olyvar sat up straighter, suddenly a bit more alert as it all got a bit more dramatic “What's going on right now, what is this, what's happening?”

For the first time, Sansa felt a connection with Olyvar as those words left his lips.

“They think I'm here to be some kind of prostitute!” Sansa cried, and Petyr stepped across the room, a gentle hand on her shoulder, which she quickly shrugged off, standing up to her full height, which had an inch over him.

“I said we were going to talk,” he said very pointedly “And now...I suppose it'll have to be a very long talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had the scene with Ros and Olyvar written from about the point I had the fifth chapter published. I'm so happy to have it up, I had so much fun writing it.


	26. The Oldest Profession

Petyr had an office in one of the back rooms of this strange flat on the top floor of this club. Well, Sansa guessed it was an office of sorts, doubling as some kind of bedroom. Most of the space was filled with a king size bed, and a rather cluttered looking desk, with books and ledgers, and in-trays all perilously over-filled. Metal filing cabinets, a shelf stocked with books, old newspapers, bottles of whiskey, an ash tray, a very outdated looking alarm clock, and there was even a clothes rack draped with various different shirts and pants, with shoes lined up underneath, and a window sill covered in photo frames and bricker brack.

“I used to live here, you know. In the early days, when I opened the place. I was about...god, twenty two I think? ” Petyr said, conversationally, stepping into the room after her, shutting the door gently behind them.

Sansa turned on him as soon as the door was shut.

“This is some kind of sex place, isn't it!” she shot, accusingly.

He stopped for a second. Regarded her. Then continued on with his story.

“It was an old theatre when I bought it, cheap and rundown, but I liked the look of it. Saw the potential. Had a certain aesthetic about it. Took years to build it into what it is now, but as you can see, these old rooms up here haven't been changed much since. They have a kind of rustic charm though, don't you think?”

Sansa stared at him incredulously “This is....this is illegal what you're doing, you can't just-” 

“I think I need a drink. Would you like a drink? I've got some Jameson's. It may be a little rough for you, but we can see how you like it-”

He rummaged over to the shelf, and pulled open a desk drawer to pull out two mis-matching glasses, giving one a quick wipe with a handkerchief from his pocket, before he put them down on the table and poured them half way full.

“Stop it!” Sansa could almost cry from frustration, an accumulated reaction to this entire dreadful night “You're not being funny! You...you, what are you? If you own this place, that makes you some kind of...” she waved her hands, too upset to say the word.

“Scoundrel? Bastard? Sleaze? Honestly, I thought you came here in desperation, and those arent very nice things to call someone when you wan't their help-”

“I was going to say pimp, actually!”

“Oh, god, I hate that one. Brings to mind all those rap songs, doesn't it? The complete antithesis to my person-”

“Would you just stop!” she really did yell, and Petyr winced and eased his hands at her 

“May I remind you that Olyvar probably has his ear pressed up against the door right this second, so if we could just lower the tone a bit-”

“Is he one of your....is this a gay sex place too?!”

“Sansa, I want you to sit down and listen to me-”

“Stop talking to me like a child!”

“I will when you stop behaving like one!”

That last part he said quite sternly, so much so that it caused Sansa to finally be stilled into silence. She looked at him, lost. Running away had been a bid to end her problems, not start new ones. And this all seemed like one big new problem.

 

Sansa stared hard at him “You're avoiding the questions.”

“Am I? I thought I was getting to a point, and if you waited and listened, you might hear it?”

He then gestured to the bed. It was the only place to sit after all. Sansa tensed as she sat on the edge of the mattress. He sprawled himself much more comfortably across from her, propped up on his elbow.

“So, you came to London at twenty two, and opened a brothel?” she reluctantly obliged herself into lowering her tone.

“It is also a burlesque house with rave reviews in the The Times and the Evening Standard, and we also do food and drinks.”

“Stop thinking you're being funny and clever, this isn't the time to be funny and clever!” Sansa wanted to hit him with one of the limp pillows that were so in reach.

He reached out to touch a hand to her arm, and Sansa saw his smug face slip a bit “Ok, yes, sorry. A defence mechanism, it just slips in, sweetling. I know this is no laughing matter.” he sighed “I don't really know where to start, but I would like to know how you got your hands on one of my VIP cards, for one. You didn't steal it from Tyrion Lannister did you?”

“No!” Sansa said, offended....then realised she really didn't have a right to be “....I stole it from you. At your apartment. You had a little box full of them and I thought...well, I just thought they were pretty, so I took one....and I only stole some money from Tyrion, nothing else he'd notice.”

Petyr's eyebrows raised and it looked like he wanted to laugh, but forced himself not to.

“Ah. Right....and do you know how exceedingly rare those VIP cards are?”

Sansa shook her head.

“There's only a few hundred issued to anyone in the world. Definitely under a thousand. You have to have a very large bank account to keep up with the yearly fee's, and a confidentiality agreement needs to be signed, as it allows members access to some very, very extraordinary privileges.”

Sansa didn't want to be curious, but it was the way he spoke, she couldn't help it.

“What kind of privileges.”

“Private parties, held at secret locations,” the man seemed all to happy to brag “and they're not parties for the feint of heart, I can tell you. The richest of the rich, the last dregs of aristocracy left in Europe, can sin like no one else, and this card lets them indulge in true debauchery with the utmost discretion, guaranteed. Of course it also gets them special privileges here at the club, too. When someone flashes that card about, the girls will drop anyone else their with to pay their attentions on them, they can drink what they want,.... do what they want,....fuck who they want....and when a seventeen year old girl pulls one out of her purse, well....no wonder you were brought to my attention. They probably thought you stole it, but who have guessed you'd stolen it from me?”

Sansa but at her lip “But...it's illegal.How have you not gone to jail?”

“Because I'm rich.” he replied quite simply “My clients are rich. The police staff I bribe to keep quiet are rich. Money can buy a whole new set of rules for the upper classes, sweetling, you should know that by now.”

She stared at him in a new light, an uneasy feeling gripping her and not letting go. Sex for money, and secrets, and bribes, he wasn't just the man who was kind to her, and watched movies with her, and made her laugh. Why did it seem so much around her was hidden and un-said, when it had been there all along? It made her question how much else there was to know. It was all so depressing, to learn the layers of dirt behind everything that seemed to be good. Behind Joffrey's smile was a monster. Behind Cersei's glamorous life was a wreck of a woman. Behind Petyr....well, Sansa didn't quite know what was behind him. 

“Does Aunt Lysa know? What it is you do here?”

Petyr shrugged “In a way. I don't think she wants to know. We don't talk about it.”

“Do you....I mean, all these women...I know....I know what pimps do-”

“I told you I don't like that term.” he said very sharply.

Sansa laughed now. In bemusement. In disbelief. In anger “But it's what you are!”

“So you think I'm some kind of woman beating philanderer now, do you? Despite having known me-”

“Do I know you? I don't feel like I do!”

“And you expected me to just tell you about this? Bring it up casually in conversation, yes, yes Sansa, I run a high end sex club and have done so for many years, what are you thoughts on that?” and now he was being sarcastic and biting and it riled Sansa up even more.

“So you don't cheat on my aunt with these girls?”

“I don't.” he said with an expressionless face and Sansa laughed again.

“Oh, I'm sure.” she bit back, wondering why it hurt so much to think he was lying “I mean, you must be so happy with Lysa, I mean she's lovely, and all these nude girls you can boss about wandering around must do nothing for you!”

“Bitter sarcasm doesn't suit you.” he muttered, swigging on the drink he'd poured for himself, while Sansa's remained untouched “And believe me or not, but I don't fuck any of the girls here, they don't do anything for me, I assure you. Men who pay women to fuck them are a certain kind of pathetic, and I don't partake in it.”

“No, no, you just run it! You just enable it all, you are the provider of all...this!” Sansa gestured to the door, to the bars and rooms and girls below.

“See, this is why I didn't tell you, I always thought there was the chance you'd react like this-”

“And why shouldn't I react like this!” she cried “This is all....what does it say about you! If the men down in that club are pathetic, then what does that say about the man who runs it?”

“I'm not any different than I was before, the only thing that's changed is what you now know,” Sansa noticed him down the last of his drink, and he was already up to pour himself another.

“No....no, it's all changed, of course it's changed! Your not just Petyr anymore, you're.....good people don't do this,”

His response came after another sip of his drink “I never said I was a good person.”

She looked him in the eye and she hated that he had now become half a stranger to her, yet he was still the only person she could cling too.

He must have seen the hurt on her face, and he sighed, a man pained.

“Sansa this is all....these men and woman are very respected here. This isn't some street corner, I'm not cruel, I simply.... provide a safe, and very high end, venue for what is considered the oldest profession. Did you meet Ros and Olyvar out there? They live here. They like working here, it's their choice.” he said, like this was all reasonable, but still Sansa didn't say anything. She just let it all sink in. The reality of where she was, of what had been going on, was sinking it.

“I know it's perhaps hard for you to understand....but what I do here, is not some great evil, nothing of the sort.”

“But women selling their bodies...having sex for money, half the men down there are probably married.” she thought out loud, the whole entire disgusting picture of it being painted in her head.

“Yes, I know, it's all quite disgusting, but it's not as if I can help the human condition. People live with unhappy marriages. People can't always find someone to love them as easily they can find a thousand pounds. I simply offer them a service, and it's not my fault they take it.”

“Spending a thousand pounds just to have sex for one night? With someone they don't even know, who doesn't even like them?” Sansa shook her head, laughing in a sad way, as Petyr once again came to sit besides her, and she let him.

“It's not that expensive really. I'd say a relationship is far more costly.”

“No, it's not.”

“And you'd know? How much did your last relationship cost you? I can see the bruises on your arms, Sansa, and wouldn't you have rather Joffrey went and paid women to do as he'd like, instead of forcing you?”

Sansa eyes darted over the covers, avoiding his stare “I wouldn't have wanted any other woman to suffer through Joffrey.”

“They would have been paid. They would be able to walk away, and forget about him. You didn't get that luxury. Every relationship, people have to give a part of themselves to someone else, it can't be helped. Relationships take so much. Money, gifts, time, it all has to go to someone else. It can't be helped, and time is the worst one. Hours, weeks, months, years....every married man down those stairs, by the bar, they have a wife at home who they've spent years with, and it wasn't enough for them. Their wives probably hate them by now, they probably all hate their wives, because people end up resenting a person when they have to give so much.....and then theres divorce, isn't it common these days? Those sad men and women can't their time back. They won't be able to get back everything they gave, not fully. Relationships are a high priced gamble, where the stock and worth goes down every year, until most are left with nothing. Compare that to a quick thousand spent on a night with someone ...nothing attached to it,” Petyr tipped his drink to her “It's a bargain really?”

Sansa turned away, his words hanging in the air. She could feel them seeping into her and she didn't like the way they felt in her mind, feeling like she could never get them out once she'd heard them. 

“I thought you said those men were pathetic, now you're saying they have the right of it. You can't say and mean both.” she said, angry that his words could poison her like this.

“I'm not saying they have the right of it, I didn't say that at all.”

He was still drinking, she noticed. Perhaps he'd already had a drink or two tonight, that's why he was talking like this. She wished she'd never heard it, but she couldn't help but ask another question.

“So you don't believe in love then?”

He fingered his glass, looking inside at the content as the amber liquid swished round the bottom.

“No, Love is real. I've felt it too strongly to deny it's existence.” and he seemed sad to admit such a thing.

“....yet you still talk like this. Still...do this? This entire profession of yours, you admit it's about nothing but money, and unhappy pathetic people, and you're at the head of it all, but you still claim to be some sort of romantic-”

“I am,” he said, steadfastly “I believe in real love. What I spoke about before was the institution of marriage, people who signed a bit of a paper and said the words, but weren't truly in love. They might have thought they were, but so many people get it wrong.”

Sansa wasn't sure what she'd lit behind them, but his voice held a sudden conviction. He moved towards her, leaning in to her yet she didn't draw away, and then his hand was on her thigh. She hadn't even realised he'd been resting it on the bed besides her, but in one quick movement it was gripping at her bare flesh, his knuckles grazing the hem of her dress. Her heart beat faster and her mind was too clouded to know if it was fear or excitement or a strange mixture of both that had her blood pumping like this.

“Love is real,” he said once again “....but it's not pure and defined, it's a mixture of so many things. It's selfish, it's fleeting, it's raw, and it's nothing you can sum up neatly, but when you feel it, you know it's real.”

His voice was low and husky, no voice an uncle should ever use with his niece, but Sansa knew he meant to use it. It was wrong and it shouldn't be happening, his hand shouldn't be so high, his grip shouldn't be that tight.

But the way he looked at her, his eyes more grey than green and so much more dark. The glances he'd given her, the faint feeling of his gaze that she'd grown used to was nothing compared to the way he he stared so brazenly at her now.

The way she burned under those eyes was more real than anything.

And then he was kissing her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, hopefully I'll have updates up faster now I'm on christmas holidays for around three months. No assignments or uni! Yay!


	27. Hidden

Petyr wished he could say he was drunk. That this wasn't just stupidity. 

Yes, his liquor had started to reach him, but he was not inebriated. His words were flowing more freely, but they were not yet slurred. He was still very much in control of himself but he was not thinking. He had only had enough to excuse a touch of light headedness but this? What was possessing him? In what world would this have been the right move to make, how did this help anything? 

By the second he leant in and pressed his lips against hers, a voice resonated in the back of his own mind: Fool.

Whisky and latent feelings from youth had come together in the most awful of ways. He'd been ranting on about the pathetic men downstairs, but was he any better up here?

It could not have been long that they're lips were even pressed against each other, though it wasn't as if less damage would be done that way. Petyr found he could barely concentrate on the softness of her lips, the way they moved against his, or the way she tasted, as his heart beat still in his chest, and he realised she was not kissing back.

And god, the look she gave him as he'd pulled away. Her blue eyes were so wide, and for half a second he'd found them so beautiful, before he realised they were full of fear. Confusion. Like a cat caught in the headlights.

A cat, he thought.

No, just a little kitten.

They sat their on the bed, and his hand was still on her thigh, and he though he ought to remove it, but it looked like she might flee if he did.

He wanted to flee himself. He wanted to push her down and keep going. He wanted to take it back, and he wanted to do it again. 

Most of all he wanted her to react.

“You kissed me,” her voice cracked quietly in the silence that had laid itself thickly between them.

“Yes...” he said, the very fact of his actions dawning on him as they were on her. 

“Why?” 

Of course that would be her question, but he hated that she asked it anyway. What answer did she expect?

Because your lips look soft, and your eyes are teary, and you are almost a dream before me.

Because I've wanted to fuck you, but I'd always imagined I'd have to kiss you first.

Because I am a sad old man who remembers what it's like to be a bright young boy.

Because I wanted your mother but I can't have her anymore.

Because I'm not drunk, but I'm not quite sober either.

“You're my uncle,” she spoke a little louder this time, and the slight indignity of her tone stirred him.

“Yes,....and that means I care for you-”

“More than an uncle should?” 

She was having none of his carefully constructed answers. He admired her courage to be able to look him in the eye like this, yet she couldn't quite hide the way her lip trembled uncertainly. He still hadn't removed his hand.

“....more than an uncle should,” he conceded, his voice low with a certain amount of tenderness “I kissed you....because I liked it when we sat on the sofa,... when we watched TV that one night, and it was late and we talked....do you remember that?”

She nodded “Yes.” and he hoped the memory came clearly to her mind.When he had held her foot in his hand, where he could see up between her legs. How she lifted her leg on purpose to let him see the white cotton of her knickers, the outline of her pussy. 

He could tell she remembered, her face had tinged pink, and her eyes flitted down to her lap, unable to look him in the eye anymore.

“I do care for you Sansa, and not just because I married Lysa. I think we've become close on a different kind of merit...,” he trailed off, and that was the last honest thing Petyr felt himself say, before he knew what needed to be said next “and I would hope that you feel the same, since you came here. Knew that I would help you...”

Perhaps she detected the touch of a threat as he spoke so gently to her, as her eyes darted back up very quickly, and searched his face for went unspoken.

Don't run from me girl. Not now. You still don't have anyone else.

This had been a stupid move but he could still fix this. She still needed him and she knew it. 

“Now,” he started to speak again very slowly “About what to do with you...I can't take you back to mine, thats the first place Cersei would look after last time you left without her permission, and I'm not letting you get the train to the Lake District, Edmure couldn't help his own way out of a paper bag....”

He was thinking as he spoke. The ideas forming, the possibilities ruling themselves out and presenting themselves alike.

“You'll stay here. For awhile. Until I figure out something better.”

Until he could put a few things into motion. Get a few people out of the way.

“And whats something better?” another question she had to ask. 

“....perhaps Lysa's home back in Chester.” he said “That's far enough away, don't you think?”

Sansa only nodded, and his hand finally moved to grip hers with a tightness that would make do for comfort.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly, eyes drifting down to those hands “I don't mean to be....I never meant to make your life harder, and I'm just...thank you.”

Even now she was courteous. And Petyr let his hand come up and brush her cheek, and Sansa's eyes snapped up to meet his at the touch. Perhaps she thought he would kiss her again, but no. It was only the lightest of touches, and his smile was sweet, but she didn't stiffen any less. 

“You're a sweet girl, Sansa,” he breathed, not looking at her, but a strand of her hair, which he brushed away with his thumb “And I wont lie....you've certainly not made my life any easier...but I'd like to think you're worth it.”

She was silent. That was ok. She didn't have to do anything more. Now her fate was upon him. Perhaps her silence was her understanding of that fact.

 

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Sansa didn't remember falling asleep but she supposed she must have, as her eyes blinked awake, on sheets that didn't smell familiar. She hadn't pulled across the curtains to the small window that overlooked the London streets, so the early morning sun was what woke her. Glancing over to the old alarm clock she saw it was only six am.

She stared at the faded scratches on the side of the desk besides the bed. At all the different labels on different bottles. The chipped white paint of the windowsill. Should she get up? Staring at the door she wondered if Ros and Olyvar were awake. Probably not.

Petyr had gone home. Had too, he said. Married men can't stay out all night and show up to their wives in the wee hours of the morning without explanation. Lysa was expecting him home.

Then with a little twist in her gut, Sansa remembered Lysa. She remembered a kiss. Laying in the morning light, where everything was still and calm, it almost didn't seem real. Had it been a proper kiss? Had he perhaps gone for her cheek and misjudged, or perhaps he just...maybe it was just....

But she was being wilfully stupid with that line of thinking, she knew. He shouldn't have done that. It was a proper kiss, with his hand on her leg, whisky on his breath, he'd kissed her. Said how much he liked her....

and the awful thing was she did like him too. That night he'd mentioned. The sofa they shared, the din of the TV in the background, the all together easiness of it all...his attentions...she'd liked it and she liked him, but how far did that like extend? She'd never seriously thought of kissing Petyr...that couldn't happen...not when he was married, to her Aunt no less, and so old...why would she think to kiss him? That would never have happened....only that it did.

But then was is it really something she never thought would have happened? One part of Sansa's mind said of course not, she never flirted with her uncle of all people, not on purpose. Then there was the tiniest of other voices, that told her she had. Perhaps playfully. because he was older but he was sophisticated. He was smart, and witty, and successful, and when he took notice of her, treated her like she was an adult, like she was smart and witty herself...she'd liked his attentions. She wanted it and and she'd gotten it.

Now he'd gone and made it all confusing, and she was ashamed and embarrassed and confused, and she thought of kissing him again. Tested the image over again in her mind, and now she burned red, pressing her face into the covers, which made her think that this was his bed, that they must smell of him, and then her mind came up with the all together unasked for image of him besides her. Of him slipping into the bed against her instead of leaving to go home, kissing her, climbing on top of her, and she wondered if that's what he had wanted to do, and no no no, she shouldn't be thinking of this at all, she was awful for thinking such wicked things, and he was married, and the more she wanted the imaginations to stop, the more pressing they became. Now she didn't know what she wanted or what she didn't.

Sansa threw off the sheets and got up all at once. Still wearing her dress and tights.

She stepped out gingerly into the flat and found the bathroom. Small, with awful pink carpet on the floors instead of tiles, with about a million different products, soaps, shampoo and conditioner bottles and bath bombs alike, all cramped on shelves and along the baths edge. How many people lived here, Sansa wondered, or had lived here once? Did all the prostitutes Petyr had live here, or only Ros and Olyvar? If not, did they have shifts or something instead? Did they have time cards and payslips? Sansa thought all sorts of strange thoughts as she sat with her knickers around her ankles, staring at the little pile of cardboard loo rolls by the side of the toilet, which no one had thought to throw away. Her brothers always did the same, just left them there like that for someone else to change. Had done, she corrected the thought.

It was only a wee, so she didn't flush. She didn't want to wake anyone up, and as Sansa wandered down the hall, she counted two other rooms, as well as Ros and Olyvar's. All of the doors were shut though.

Wandering out to the living room and kitchen, Sansa couldn't work up the nerve to take anything from the fridge, even though she was hungry. She peered at some of the photographs on the walls, the posters. Looked at the CD's in the clock. There wasn't much very good. No one bought CD's these days, so the most recent thing she saw was Mariah Carey's christmas album.

The idea of going downstairs to wander around the club seemed daunting, but after fifteen very dull minutes of sitting quietly on the sofa, too nervous to turn on the tv or do anything else, Sansa found herself pulling open what stood for a front door, and wandering down the staircase. She didn't realise how badly the floorboards under the old carpet creaked last night, but now she winced after every step.

She came down to the landing with the eight doors down the wide hall, and Sansa felt much more wizened to what these rooms were for now. There was only room enough for one window down the end of the hall, but it let in enough light for her to see, and it was surprising how different it looked, without the artificial amber glow of dull lamps. All the doors were shut, but it wasn't as if anyone would be in there now, would they? Surely even brothels had to be closed at six in the morning. Sansa stood on the last step, looking over the banister, listening for any sounds of movement, but the place was as dead quiet as upstairs.

With almost something akin to a thrill, she wandered over to open the first door. Thankfully, it wasn't locked. Even more thankfully, there were no indignant shrieks or any two bodies jumping up from the bed in the middle of the room.

It wasn't so much that the room was small, so much that the bed was especially large, and so obviously featured, that it dominated the space. Sansa supposed that made sense though. Modern, with a black leather headboard, looking sumptuous with a steel grey comforter and pillows, velour and silk. The walls were black panelled wood, with soft grey carpet underfoot, and there was little more to the room than that. Two matching silver lacquered armoires, either side, decorated with two matching lamps. A rather impressionistic painting hung above the bed. There was a nightstand with flowers and an artfully arranged tray of what Sansa found, on closer inspections, were condoms and little assorted bottles of things which she didn't want to read the labels of.

It was very stylish. Straight out of some contemporary design magazine. Of course Petyr would have it that way, she thought, thinking of his own home.

She wondered if the others were the same, and went to the next door down, and was pleasantly surprised to find an all together different kind of room.

This one had the same black lacquered walls, but with a gold velvet headboard, with matching coloured bedding, with even more pillows than the room before, striped, and patterned, in all sorts of shapes. There was a black and white striped chaise lounge off to the side, and a zebra skin rug across the floor, an arm chair with a high winged back, and the walls were decorated with nude black and white photographs of women, hung in ornate gold frames. The most luxurious addition to the room was a small chandelier, made of dangled chains of diamonds. 

Now Sansa was determined to see all of the bedrooms.

The next one down was full of antique furniture, and was coloured decadently red, like dark wine, with gold fittings, and the walls entirely draped in embossed velvet curtains. Another, was made to look like some kind of Arabian kings harem, with rich gold and purple hues and turqoise walls, glass lamps that dropped down from the ceiling, and a hanging tent across the bed. Sansa got a shock when she came across the fifth room and found a bed that was hardly a bed at all, and instead looked more like a torture device, with a stark black frame with chains hanging from it, and a bare leather base, devoid of any sheets at all. There were very neatly arranged implements strung up on the walls too, the way you might do with pool cues. Except Sansa recognised a few of them as whips and riding crops, and promptly shut the door quite quickly on that room. The next one shocked her even more for being entirely covered in mirrors. The ceilings, the walls, even the nightstands, were mirrored, with one single white sheeted bed, reflected a million times over.

 

The next room seemed even boring in comparison to the last two, even if it did have what looked like a rotating round bed, with a beige carpet and orange accents, in an allusion to the seventies, with vintage décor. Sansa was much more impressed with the last room though, with baby pink walls and a white bed, with a fluffy pink throw across the bottom of it. Even the carpet was baby pink shag. It was a kitschy sixties dream.

Almost sadly, Sansa realised she'd run out of rooms to look at, but she was definitely much bolder now in her exploring.

She wandered down to the next landing, and went through the curtained off entrance to find a low ceilinged lounge. Moving past the bar and booths and small centre stage, she found herself pressed against a glass window that looked down on the rest of the club, and she thought how large it looked when it wasn't crammed with people. She could see the main stage and thought of how Petyr told her it used to be a play house, and she could see below to the balcony area, now filled with more booths and tables to look down on the entertainment.

She went down to explore that balcony, and then down to the main club floor, and even lifted herself up onto the stage, peeked behind the heavy draped curtains. She went down the little side steps to the much less elaborately decorated back stage, but even so there was a myriad of dressing tables, each with photographs tacked to the mirrors, and cases of makeup, and wigs, and fluorescent bulbs like something out of old hollywood. Sansa instantly bee lined for the rack and racks of sequinned and feathered costumes and dresses, lace and leather bodysuits, plumed headdresses, diamond encrusted bustiers and bra's. They were hung on hooks and hidden in garment bags with girls names on them. Charlotte, Meghan, Lucy, Dascha, Mei, Noelle....how beautiful these girls must be, Sansa thought, stroking a gentle hand over a pure white mink stole that had been haphazardly thrown over the top of the rack.

She pulled it down and stroked it in her arms, wondering how it could be so gorgeously soft, as she wrapped it around her shoulders.

Sansa turned to admire herself in one of the fluorescent lit mirrors. 

She was hardly as glamorously made up as she could have been, with tousled hair and no lick of makeup, but still she pouted her lips slightly. Turned her head a few which ways, pulled her hair around her shoulder. Posed. 

Eventually she tore her gaze away from the mirror, pulled off the mink but still held it wrapped around her arms. She found a route past the kitchens, and the back of the bar, leading her out to the main floor again, where she took a seat at one of the booths. Just her alone in an empty theatre room.

It really was beautiful here, in a strange way. A curiosity, resting anonymously behind a signless door in an old five storey building, with blocked off windows and an aging facade. Somewhere you may not glance up twice at if you didn't know what lay behind it. A hidden jewel, of sorts.

And now it hid her too.


	28. You're welcome

“Your name is Alayne Stone,” Petyr said across the small breakfast table, finishing a bite of his croissant “You're my cousins husbands niece, and you came in to London looking for a job and a flat to rent, and until those two almost impossible feats are pulled off, you've ended up staying here for awhile until you're on your feet. If anyone asks, you can't stay at my home with me and my wife, Lysa, as you don't want your mother finding out that your broke, because it's embarrassing, you want to appear independent, so on and so forth, but again, only if people ask. It's always good to be casually vague, instead of suspiciously specific.”

“Cousins husbands niece...” Sansa parroted, trying to commit the lie to memory.

“Yes, distant enough, slightly confusing. People will be completely bored the minute you try and explain the familiar relations.”

Sansa nodded, chewing a mouthful of croissant herself, the Pret-a-Manger take away bags and coffee's Petyr had brought were well appreciated as he'd arrived back at the club around nine am. Even now, back up in the flat, she had the mink still hanging off an arm and Petyr had taken a look at her and quipped 'I didn't know we were getting dressed up for breakfast, I would have worn nicer cufflinks'.

They'd been sitting around discussing her effective disappearance, and it was almost bizarrely mundane. She was some kind of fugitive on the run, a missing heiress, a rebellious runaway smuggled into a brothel of all places, but yet she was just a girl eating breakfast in a flat at the same time. It was like being in the eye of the storm, at the centre of all this madness going on around her yet she couldn't feel it, only watch it, her life up in the air without knowing where it would land.

“So....do you have any idea of when we'll leave for Chester?”

Petyr shook his head “Give it some time. Moving too soon after the fact will make them look more closely at me, so I'd prefer to go on for a few weeks as normal. I haven't heard from Cersei yet. I'd have expected her banging on my door at the crack of dawn, as soon as she'd found you missing.”

“Cersei doesn't get up at the crack of dawn...” Sansa muttered and that made Petyr laugh.

“No, I suppose she doesn't.”

“Sometimes she sleeps in till the middle of the day, especially if she's been drinking too much the night before. Tyrion's the same. Jamie's the only one who gets up early because he goes jogging, but it's not like he ever paid attention to me anyway....I mostly just stayed in my room. I suppose they'll know I'm gone when one of them thinks to go and check on me.”

“So it could be as late as this evening that they even notice you're gone?”

“Suppose so,” Sansa sipped her coffee. 

He'd talked about trips and disguises and secret names and secret lives, but he still hadn't said a word about the kiss. From the minute he'd entered the building and said good morning, he'd simply acted as if nothing had happened at all, and in a way, it forced Sansa to do so too. She didn't want to be the one to make it strange. To think she was worried about everything being awkward, or worse, Petyr perhaps even being angry with her. She still remembered that man from last night, the one that hassled her on the street, who'd said she was beautiful and he wanted to buy her a drink, until she'd told him no, and all of a sudden she was a bitch and he was telling her to fuck right off.

Sansa didn't quite know if she wanted Petyr to kiss her, but she definitely knew she didn't want him to hate her.

Studying his face, she thought he wasn't all together bad looking. Sansa had never considered her uncle ugly, but not quite handsome either. His nose was ridged and quite thin, and he had quite deep set eyes, big for such a thin face. He almost always looked tired with the dark circles, and the creases around them unforgivingly gave away his age. He was never quite fresh faced, even with his impeccable attire. His hair was a little too long and didn't want to lie flat. His facial hair was obviously maintained, but he clearly didn't shave everyday. The little grey streaks in his hair at his temples were more appealing than she wanted to admit. Trailing her eyes down to his lips, Sansa imagined another kiss, and snapped her eyes back to the table top and instead focused on his words.

“Ros and Olyvar know who you are, since you mentioned your real name, and trust me they would have thought to google you. They've been told of how important it is that no one else finds out your here.”

“And you don't think they'll tell anybody?” she said, shifting any other kind of thoughts to the back burner of her mind. Thoughts she really shouldn't be entertaining.

“Considering I'm the one who hands them a heavy pay packet every week, I'm inclined to trust their better judgement.” Petyr flattened out the paper bag his croissant had come in and folded it over neatly, running pinched fingers across it to form a sharp crease. 

Sansa watched his hands “What if Cersei puts out a, I don't know...some kind of reward on me?”

“The Lannister's won't want to shine that big of a spotlight on this, not after the media fall out of Arya's disappearance and the publics interest on your families misfortunes in general. One missing Stark girl is unlucky. Two missing Stark girls is too big for anyone to politely ignore, no matter how much hush money Tywin Lannister throws around.”

“Have you heard anything about Arya?” Sansa suddenly thought to ask.

“Last time I was updated, I was told she was in Wales.”

“Wales?! She last told me she was headed up North!”

“Yes, well, she obviously doubled back, didn't she.”

Sansa surprised herself by how her heart beat in her chest. She was alright, alive, Arya was alright. “How do you know this? If you've found her, we can go get her!”

“It's not quite like that, she was only seen. Street security camera footage, they identified it was her. She was with some other men, but so far, my investigators have no idea who they are. They worked the area, but she may have already moved on by now. She's been spotted a few times all over the country but she never really stops moving. Smart way to go about things, really.” Petyr mused, as if it was something interesting he'd read in the paper, and not the welfare of her little sister.

Almost in disbelief, Sansa wondered what kind of private investigators he'd hired “How have you managed to track her like this, and the police haven't found a thing?”

“Oh, the police have done a wonderful job tracking her, they just happen to be my police officers. Nothing heads to the press, you, or the Lannister's without going through me first.”

Sansa wasn't sure if she should be impressed or unnerved. Perhaps grateful. For every allusion to the sinister actions of the Lannister's, in a strange way, she felt almost lucky to think their was a man on her side just as capable of such things. Fight fire with fire, as they say.

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At about three pm in the afternoon, girls had started to arrive. They drifted into the building in sweat pants with their hair pulled back in messy buns, make up free, and Sansa wondered if they were the same glamorous creatures she'd seen the night before.

Rehearsals, Olyvar told her, as they both looked down from the balcony. They always needed to keep routines polished, and new shows were being practised every other week. There were girls stretching, and a couple of men, a head choreographer and two stage managers, someone from sound and lighting, plus a costume designer with an assistant who was taking girls in turns out to the backstage area to do fittings and take measurements for new matching couture looks. 

“They'll work a little on a new bit they'll be debuting next Saturday, something bondagey. We had some latex stuff come in the mail couple days ago, and we haven't done one like that in awhile. It felt gimmicky, while that fifty shades of grey shit was everywhere, you know?. Have you seen it? Utter rubbish. I've seen kinkier shit happen on the Northern Line past ten pm.”

“No,” Sansa answered, absent-minded as she peered down over the gold railing as Olyvar took a drag on his cigarette. The lights were off up here on the second level, and only a couple of girls below had spotted them, giving Sansa curious looks. 

“After this they'll run through tonights line up, but only quickly, since these girls have done these acts before. Like Mei will be the opener tonight, with all her acrobatics and hanging from the ceiling stuff. Real crowd pleaser. She used to be a Chinese olympian or something. Won a bronze I think. Then the other nine will come on and do a couple group routines, music, dancing, then I can't remember who's doing the close. Might be Melissa.” He clucked his tongue “Not who'd I'd choose, but what do I know. I mean she's not shit, but she's not hot shit, you know what I mean?”

Sansa nodded for no other reason than she felt she should “So what do you do here then? Like, do you dance or sing or anything?”

He let out a bark of laughter “Fuck no! Jesus, no. I'm not one of the on stage performers, I'm more...one of the backstage performers.” he gave her a look and Sansa smiled tightly, understanding, feeling a lot less naive than she ever had been within the space of a day.

 

“See, it's like this. All those girls down there,” he pointed down to the stage just as music started up, and they started to move “They've all sucked a cock for money, trust me on that, but they don't always have too. They have other skills that keep them here, and if they're dancing all night, it's not as if they have the time to be upstairs on their back, right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” he nodded again “So look at it this way. You can separate everyone here into three categories. First is wait staff and bartenders, who still have to be gorgeous, flirty and know how to give a lap dance and what have you. They don't fuck. They're real staff. Then theres the performers, all that lot down there. Now, they fuck, but only on occasion. Usually when they're specifically asked for by clients, and they tend to have favourites. Fans. They're like the stars of the place, or they like to think and act like they are at least. They cost more too. Lastly, theres room girls,”

“Room girls?” Sansa tore her eyes away from the practising dancers down below as they were yelled at by their choreographer.

Olyvar gestured to himself coyly “and guys of course. We work the rooms. Get dressed up, the girls get nice costumes, and we just mingle. Make good conversation. Be charming...and try and barter people upstairs for a fuck. We have regulars as well, sometimes I'm all booked up and I'm on the fourth floor all night, but that's only after you get good. If you just sit around and party with the crowds and don't actually sell yourself, Petyr lets you go pretty fast.”

After another drag of a cigarette he added “I mean, not that you have to worry about that. Sorry, It's like I forgot you're not actually going to be working here.”

Sansa shrugged, going back to watching below “I suppose it's interesting to know regardless.”

o0o00o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o000o0o0o0o0o0

Sansa didn't watch the performances that night, instead keeping herself shut up in the flat with the telly on. Going to bed early. Falling asleep wondering if Petyr's bedroom was above one of the special sex rooms downstairs, because if she strained her ears, she swore she could hear the occasional noises. 

Petyr didn't come the next day, but the routine was much the same. Rehearsals, a few different girls, more curious look as Sansa looked on as a little wall flower. A couple said hello. She met the head chef in the small kitchens, where they'd been happy to give her one of the house dishes for her dinner. They were all very curious about the fact that she was apparently related to Petyr “Yeah, his cousins my step mum, it's a bit confusing, I know.” she'd laugh, retreating back up to the flat to avoid too many questions.

The day after that Petyr didn't show up either, and the day was much the same as before. Hanging around the flat in the morning, having Cereal and toast with Ros and Olyvar. Watching rehearsals. She met a few more of the girls, and was surprised at how friendly they are, until Olyvar pointed out that of course they were going to be nice to the bosses niece. Sansa hung around backstage to watch the girls getting their hair and makeup done by a little team of professionals that came in the early evening, and she watched the girls transform under brushes and hairspray and false lashes.

Later on that evening, Sansa couldn't take another hour of watching snooker, so she'd made her way gingerly down the creaky stairs to the club past midnight. Just to peek.

She'd taken one of the spare waitresses wigs from backstage, perhaps being a bit paranoid, as Petyr hadn't told her to disguise herself or anything as dramatic as that. Sansa had to admit, it was just a bit fun to have the excuse to put it on. In fact, quite a few little items that had caught her eye had found their way up into her room. The mink, the wig, a piece of scrap ribbon the costume designer had left behind. Just little pretty things she found and asked Ros if she could keep. Ros always let her, joking that she was like a little magpie. 

Staying to the dimmer lit areas of the balcony area, she watched the girls perform, and had to admit it was captivating. Once she got used to the bare legs in the air, the jiggle of their breasts, she could watch without turning red. It even became part of the thrill of it, watching something so naughty. So deliberately scandalous. Obviously, this was the entire appeal of such an act, and Sansa found herself watching just intently as the men in the audience. She almost felt strange about it, until Looking around, and seeing their were a good deal of women in the club too, just as many as the men. The girls costumes glittered alive on the stage under the lights, their movements were something to behold, and no matter what ones sexuality you couldn't deny they were divine. It all became so free, an appreciation of form, and glamor and sex. A pageantry that any true aesthete could see the beauty in. 

She went to bed in sheets that still smelt like Petyr, wondering what it was like to be so un-real. Girls who could become goddesses on stage. Everyone sending them their love in gazes, transfixed on them for a moment in time, the finest things to ever exist. She dreamt of being a girl like that. Who wouldn't?

By the fourth day Sansa was annoyed that Petyr hadn't shown himself again. Ros said it wasn't unusual. He usually wasn't here on weekdays, but Sansa countered with the fact that he usually didn't have his niece holed up here either. Didn't Petyr understand that she didn't have her phone, or a computer, or any books, or anything? What did he think she was doing here all day? She wanted to know what was going on out there. Every night she watched the news, waiting for any story about her disappearance, but nothing. If anything, Petyr should have at least contacted her and told her what happened with Cersei. Was it wrong to feel gleeful over imagining her so distressed? Sansa decided it wasn't, and hoped the woman was besides herself. Plus she was running out of clean clothes. Would she have to ask Ros to go to a laundrette for her?

She thought about contacting him, and she also overthought about contacting him.

Were his phones being traced? Was that being paranoid? What about emails? No, they could be traced too. This was him lying low, going about things as normal, he said, maybe no contact was the best way. Maybe he was being watched by that man who followed them in the art gallery? No, no, now she was definitely being paranoid. She didn't want to seem a baby, needing him to assure her everything was alright every single day, but she would have simply felt safer if he did.

Then there was the very fact that if he wasn't making the effort to come and check up on her, Sansa wouldn't make the effort to contact him.

She wanted to care a lot less about the fact that he hadn't though. Sansa found she missed him. Wanted him to come. If he said he liked her...kissed her....didn't that mean he cared? That he'd want to see her and make sure she was alright? Now she didn't know quite how he felt about her at all, or how to feel about him in return, or how he wanted her to feel about him and really it was just one big mess he started with that kiss, and now how was she to sort it out if he wasn't even going to come and see her?

On the fifth day, Sansa emerged from her bedroom at around nine in the morning, and found Petyr sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. All of a sudden just there, as casual as anything, and standing there in her nightie, Sansa blurted out a half conscious “Oh, hello.” realising a second after the fact that she sounded slightly moronic.

“Morning,” Petyr chirped, pocketing his phone and standing up to greet her. It was then Sansa noticed all the bags at his feet. Large paper shopping bags from Selfridges.

“What...what's all this...?” she wandered forward, slowly coming out of the haze of waking up. There was a lot to say, a lot of accusations to throw at him, and she tried to recall them.

“Ros said you were running out of the clothes you'd brought,” he gestured down at all the bags “Hence, new clothes.”

That certainly woke her up.

Sansa stared at him, wide eyed, before grabbing one of the bags and gingerly sorting through the tissue paper to feel fabric in her hands. Pulling up a light pink jumper, what looked like two pairs of jeans, a grey check skirt, a white lace dress, and two t-shirts, and that was just the one bag. Checking the labels, they were all designer too. They were from Selfridges, of course they were designer, she thought.

“If anythings not to your tastes or doesn't fit, I can have it returned. I asked the shop girls for what was 'In' right now for girls your age, and just hoped for the best. Theres some toiletries too, soaps, nail clippers, eye lash curlers.... I don't know. Things girls need, and other assorted items.”

Petyr waved a hand as if it was nothing, but searching through the next bag Sansa found sets of makeup and body lotions, pyjamas, a fluffy pink bathrobe, packs of socks, an Ipad, some sketch pads and pencils, about ten different magazines, a new bag and wallet, plus two other bags of clothes. She would have to look at it all properly later, all she did now was gape.

“I...thank you....you didn't need to get all of this,” she sat in front of the bags in her pyjamas thinking 'how on earth am I going to yell at him now?'.

“Well, I wouldn't put much faith in seeing any of the things you left with Cersei ever again, and you really couldn't make do with wearing that black dress and tights everyday. Even if it did go well with your mink.”

Sansa smiled a little chagrined. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, but she didn't want to seem so easily bought either “This is so...so generous of you...”

“Please, I can afford this with money fallen down between my couch cushions, it's nothing.”

“This is an Alexander McQueen knit dress, it's hardly nothing.”

“Oh, so you like Alexander McQueen, then? Good. I'll keep that in mind.” he sat there looking pleased with himself, until he noticed the very discreet way in which Sansa's smile was forced. Not entirely the look he had expected after a showering of presents “What is it, what's the matter? Besides...your general situations, of which we are working on, whats bothering you?”

Sansa shrugged, words losing themselves on her tongue “Yes, fine. Nothings the matter.”

“You're a bad liar. Are the girls being nice to you?”

“Yes,”

“Olyvar's not being too obnoxious?”

“No, he's been fine,”

“Are you mad because I haven't come to see you until now?”

She paused too long at this blunt question, smoothing over the material of the dress in her hands, and that would make do for an answer.

“Ah,” Petyr nodded, sighing “Now, you have to understand the necessity of not raising any suspicion,”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said quickly, already feeling his impatience, not wanting to seem like some spoilt, unappreciative child.

“Cersei sent people to my home, asked a lot of questions, and thank god for Lysa being clueless to whats going on, it was truly an authentic performance. We were threatened to keep quiet, and we of course acted very scared, powerless and confused and worried for our niece, and they followed the both of us for about three days, until you were spotted in Brighton, where they've now focused all their attentions.”

Sansa frowned “I was spotted up in Brighton?”

“Yes. A red headed girl was seen on blurry security camera footage using an ATM with Sansa Starks bank card. It's hard to make out the face, but who else would it be but you?” he smiled “I hope you don't mind that I took that by the way, it's best we get you a new one regardless.”

Sansa took it all in “That's...smart.”

“I know,” he really did look pleased with himself now “So we've bought some time and deflected a bit of attention from ourselves. Plus, theres work to be caught up on here, and I haven't bothered to watch a rehearsal for months now, and I wouldn't mind hanging around to catch it.”

“You're going to spend the whole day here?” Sansa asked.

“And evening, depending which guests are here tonight.”

“Good,” she said, then tinged pink at how that sounded “I mean, thank you....that'd be nice.”

Petyr's smile grew wider “Consider it an apology of sorts. A weeks worth of attentions condensed into one day.”

Sansa placed the dress neatly back in it's bag, standing up “Really, thank you..” she started, padding across the cluttered floor space to reach Petyr by the sofa “For the clothes, all of this...for helping me...”

“And you're very welcome.” He regarded her curiously as she stood before him, leaning in gingerly until he realised she intended to kiss his cheek, feeling the small peck as she did so.

Then Sansa wet her lips, and without thinking too hard about it, she pressed another quick kiss to his lips, very much on purpose.

A quick little press of lips. A different kind of kiss than the one that had kept her up all night, almost innocent in its chasteness. A test of unfamiliar waters. The equivalent of dipping in her toes to the deep, of which she wasn't sure she was ready to dive into.

Petyr didn't draw her closer, or push her away, letting her withdraw gently on her own terms. They spoke with their eyes, with one gentle shy smile, and one intrigued.

“Very welcome indeed,” Petyr mused, as she picked up one of the bags, wanting to try on her new clothes.


	29. An engagement

It's funny how people adapt to all kinds of strange situations, until they hardly seem strange anymore, and what was once bizarre and new becomes a comfortable routine.

The doors of the mockingbird had opened for the evening. People who had begun queueing an hour ago were now drifting in, along with the groups at booked tables, men already lined up along the bar, laughter and music and noise intermingling so that two figures at the back of the balcony went unheard and unnoticed as the club came alive in the night.

Sansa had on one of her new dresses, a completely unnecessary purchase, with long sleeves and a short hem, completely covered in rose gold sequins. Sansa hurried down the flights of creaking stairs, adjusting her dark black wig as she did so, making sure it was sitting in place. As she winded around the banister she caught eyes with Bernie, slipping out of the kitschy sixties room, and the girls exchanged a smile. Sansa knew she couldn't stop to talk, Bernie always had Mr. Crab on Thursday evenings to entertain. Mr.Crab wasn't his real name, just what Bernie called him, since he liked to pinch her and the other girls so much. Bernie's name wasn't really Bernie either. She was Bernadette to her family, Bernie to all the girls here, and Lillian to all her Johns. 

The chatter and din of the club could still be heard through the walls as she spun down and around all the steep flights of stairs, skipping over the cracked floorboard she'd already tripped on twice before, saying a quick hello to two other girls she happened to pass, before slipping through the narrow corridor to the kitchens. It was always so loud in the kitchens, sizzling and yelling and clattering, but Sansa was a little dormouse as she slinked past bus boys and chefs and waiters balancing five plates at once.

“Alayne, Alayne, Alayne!” Came a cry across the hectic room from the old head chef, Sergio, with his thick Italian accent “Here, here, we have oysters here, just prepared, you try one now, you told me you would try one!” the old man gestured to the line of chefs busy preparing the plates of fresh oysters but Sansa barely slowed down.

“I never said that, I said I could never eat oysters!” she smiled, already heading for the large double doors.

She was met with a dramatic sigh, as Sergio never did anything that wasn't dramatic“Ah, you say that, but you have never had MY oysters!”

He tried to look as heartbroken as possible as Sansa fled the scene with an apologetic smile, the doors clanging shut behind her as she hurried through another hall, into a different kind of frantic in the dressing rooms.

She was barely noticed in the fray of twenty people, girls, dancers, makeup artists, all in various stages of glamorous disarray. One girl charged past her in nothing but sparkly knickers and white fishnets, her hair all slicked back under a flesh coloured wig cap as she yelled at someone to find her hair, while another was busy lacing up a pair of boots that went all the way up to her thighs, and someone else was crying in a makeup chair with two other girls surrounding her but Sansa didn't stop to enquire, since it was Dascha, and Dascha cried every other day over something. Maybe her boyfriend had ended up going on that cruise with his wife instead of her after all. She'd have to ask Olyvar if he'd heard anything about that. Petyr would be glad to hear that, she thought, he hadn't wanted to give her anymore time off after that nose job she'd gotten set her back a few weeks.

Straight past everyone and in a hurry, Sansa beelined to where Ros and Miss Olivia were by the racks of clothes and shelves of shoes and jewellery and scarfs and all else.

Miss Olivia was the seamstress and designer, a woman in her sixties who still died her hair fire truck engine red, with lipstick to match, and tortoiseshell cats eye glasses that always hung on a chain around her neck. She was busy sewing a girl into a sheer lace dress with pins in her mouth, with Ros simply there for company, as even when Ros wasn't performing, she was always hanging around to chat.

“Hi,” Sansa said quickly, already knowing which drawer to rifle through to get at what she wanted.

“And what are you after now, little miss Alayne?” Olivia said, barely glancing up from her work “did you give back those shoes you took the other night? Dana needs them back for her act tomorrow.”

“I did,” Sansa chirped, pulling out a rose gold wrist cuff and matching chain choker necklace “and I'll give these ones back at the end of tonight, ok?” she said, already putting them on, happy with how well they matched the dress, as she'd planned. It was only costume jewellery, but it did the job.

“And I want that mink back at some point, too!” Olivia thought to yell out to her as Sansa was already hurrying away, with a wave over her shoulder letting her know she'd heard.

Then it was out onto the floor, and Sansa had to bustle through the crowds before the stage, the first performance already underway. As she did her best to slip past everybody, she couldn't help but be stepped into by a man coming away from the bar.

“Oh, jesus, sorry,” he mumbled above the crowds, eyes widening when he saw Sansa “Oh, Alayne,” Dontos said, Sansa recognising him now “Shit, sorry, sorry,” he smiled quickly, moving on even quicker to leave her be as she told him it was fine, not to worry.

He was a drug dealer. Petyr's drug dealer. Well, the one he hired anyway. Customers always wanted something, mostly cocaine, sometimes pills, and Dontos was the one to carry it, ready to be called over to a table with whatever they could want.

He was friendly to Sansa at first, but recently he'd started to keep his distance. It was probably because of that time he'd said she had the prettiest blue eyes he'd ever seen, within hearing distance of Petyr.

Sansa eventually made it to one of the quiet booths at the back.

“Well,” Petyr looked up as he saw, moving over so she could fit in next to him “You're looking very...reflective this evening,” he said, eyeing over all the sequins.

“Thank you,” she smiled, sitting comfortably close.

Petyr always thought it more smart to sit down here, rather than up in the VIP sections. The more exclusive you got, the less crowds there were to hide in. The more old wealthy men in the room, the more a pretty young thing like her would stand out. Besides, half of those wealthy old men up their had probably known her father, knew her name, knew the Lannister's. The wealthy moved in small circles in London, and why take the risk, when you could sit down here, forgotten in the rabble, as Petyr called it. The booth itself was more an alcove in the wall, with draped curtains hanging either side of them to give a sense of privacy. Sansa noticed that the curtains could most likely pulled all the way around, shutting everyone out completely, and looking across the room she saw a man laughing, with one of the room girls already laughing along with him at his side, half on his lap already, and she thought he looked ready to pull across his curtain any minute.

No one ever bothered them when they ate dinner out here and simply watched the show, besides the waitresses fussing over them, or Ros or the stage director running out to ask Petyr what to do with so-and-so who hadn't shown up or there was a commotion upstairs. Other than that everyone was too busy drinking and dining themselves to give them a second glance, and it was Sansa's favourite times of the week, when he was here.

The girls were nice, but Sansa knew they had to be. They'd all picked up on the fact that even after a almost a month of being here, she'd yet to actually go outside. Hopefully they didn't think too hard on it, or if they did realise the strangeness of it all, they would stick to minding their own business, which seemed to be the case. She had Olyvar and Ros, and they were fine to spend the day away with, but it was different with Petyr. Of course they were different. She treated him differantly.

Every move was measured now. Ever since she'd kissed him, so spur of the moment. The idea had just taken her at the time, kiss him, do it, don't let him drift away for another week, he kissed you first, it's a thank you kiss, haven't you thought about this all week? Each and every single thought had rushed through her mind all at once, so much so that it was almost overwhelming, until all the thoughts just sort of stopped...and all that was left was simply action. Maybe just to see what would happen. To make something happen. The specifics of her own actions weren't even that clear to herself, so Sansa would hardly know how to explain it to anyone else.

Of course she'd kissed him other times. For other thank you's. Sometimes on the cheek, and sometimes briefly on the lips. Little pecks. It came to be that she gave him one every time he left the mockingbird. Every time without fail when she had to say goodbye.

Funny how people adapt to all kinds of strange situations, until they hardly seem strange anymore.

It was then she noticed a newspaper sitting on the table.

“I have some news.” he answered, before she could ask.

“Some news?” Sansa asked, the pages already being opened, Petyr's finger tapping at a spot to draw her eye. 

The engagements section. Sansa saw the picture before anything else. Joffrey Baratheon and Maragaery Tyrell.

“Engaged?!” Sansa grabbed the newspaper properly to re-read the innocuous little engagement message in disbelief “Since when? So soon? The dates set for a month from now, that's hardly any time at all! I didn't even...I mean I knew they knew eachother but....but she told me how awful he was being to me, she knew, and now why would she turn around and want to marry him!?” Sansa laughed at the absurdity, though she hardly found it funny, and in this second she realised how much she'd been cut off from the world in this little bubble of a place. 

“Yes, Tywins marketing it as a whirlwind teenage love affair their powerless to stop, but I'd think he's more behind it than he's letting on. The Lannisters don't have as much money as you'd think these days. Margaery and her family are a life raft for them, them and those hotels of theirs.”

“He's marrying her for the money?”

“You sound almost surprised? It's why they were keeping you around after all.” Petyr said, casually gesturing to one of the girls across the room to bring him a drink. They knew the signal well enough.

“What?”

“Hm?” Petyr observed her for a second “You never wondered what was going to become of you in that house? Why they didn't just pass you off to Lysa, or Edmure or even Brynden Tully?”

Sansa felt sheepish for shrugging “I suppose...well, my family was dead, and Mum left me with them and...”

What was the point in trying to think of a reason now, she hadn't bothered to think over such a thing back then, when she really ought to have given it some thought. 

“Tywin would have wanted you and Joffrey roped together somehow, with the entirety of the Stark inheritance, company stocks, ancestral family home roped in along with you. You're worth a rather nice bundle of goodies, ranging into the high, high millions.”

“But Joffrey hated me.”

“I'm sure Cersei would have brought him around to the idea, and made sure you weren't going anywhere fast.”

“I wouldn't have said yes.”

“But were you going anywhere fast?” Petyr repeated again, with emphasis and raised eyebrows.

Sansa felt that same awful overwhelming feeling she'd been feeling more and more often, when she realised how much seemed to be going on around her, so fast that she couldn't catch up.

“Would they have forced me to marry him, do you think?”

Petyr's hand waved in the air, like it was a thought he could brush away.

“Who can say. Not something you have to worry about now is it? Not when Margaery gets to be his blushing bride instead.”

“Do you think they've forced Margaery to do this?” Sansa suddenly thought to ask, but Petyr's response was a rather disparaging look.

“No, I expect she knows exactly what she's doing, and before you worry, I'd say she knows exactly what he's like too. I ran into them the other week, a charity gala. Joffrey was on his worst behaviour. She sat through it and stared at him like he was the sun, and laughed at every moronic thing he said.....she'll do well as his trophy wife. She's a hotel heiress, these girls practically train for that life.”

Sansa stared down at Margaerys picture, smiling, wearing a lovely tea dress, hands held in Joffrey's.

“I feel almost sorry for her...” 

“Almost?”

“Well... she's also turned out to be a bit of a bitch hasn't she?”

Petyr laughed and she liked that she could make him do that.

"There's something else that should be mentioned." he started slowly after some time" Joffrey's asked me if the Stag party could be held here....and 'asked' isn't perhaps the right word for it, since there is no possible way I could say anything but yes."

Sansa stared, her nerves working up "He's going to be here? He's going to come here to the club?"

"and he won't have any reason to look up to the top floor, in a locked bedroom, where you will stay without cause for concern." Petyr replied calmly and gave her a pointed gaze, as if he needed to fox her down with a look, or she'd go running from the room.

Sansa had to let herself breathe "Yes...yes, he wouldn't, would he? No, I'm sure that would be fine."

"He'll be blind drink and surrounded by my girls, his mind won't even wander to you, I'm sure."

He meant it to reassure her, but somehow that comment still stung a little. No, of course his mind wouldn't wander to me. She doubted Margaery's would either, not now, and definitely not when she agreed to marry Joffrey. Sometimes Sansa wondered if anyone out in the real world noticed her gone at all.

“I've been invited to the wedding.” Petyr snapped her out of the first stages of Sansa feeling desperately sorry for herself.

“And will you go?”

“No, I couldn't possibly...and not just because the whole things a farce, and I dislike weddings on principle, but because I'm going to be heading to Chester about a week before the date.” and by the look he gave her, Sansa caught on, the name alerting her.

“Chester? We'll be leaving?” she said, excited. Nervous.

“Yes, and you'll come down during the wedding itself. The perfect time. Everyone will be there, will be busy, distracted. If theres any day Cersi and Tywin will be less vigilant, it would be Joffrey's big day.”

“We won't head down together?”

“We take no chances. It's better this way. Lysa, Robin and myself will head down, tell people Lysa hasn't been adjusting to the city life as well as she'd hoped, we'll hardly raise an eyebrow with the move....and then you'll come down after and join us.”

“What, by myself?”

“No, not by yourself, but I'm not going to go over the details here. Not now.” he said lowly, and Sansa suddenly thought to talk softer too, leaning in closer so she could still be heard.

“What's going to happen once we get to Chester? Will I still have to stay inside, wear a wig?” she asked the questions that had been burning in her mind for some time “Now that Joffrey's marrying Margaery, does that mean they won't want me anymore? I won't have to worry?”

Petyr tilted his head ever so slightly towards her and it dawned on her how close they were at this moment, her knee pressed against his, his face hovering only inches from hers.

“They'll still want you, sweetling. Theres still Tommen, afterall...and Jamie, and Tyrion, and marriage isn't the only way to someones money.”

Sansa swallowed, nerves creeping back in when these last few weeks, she'd had them almost forgotten. She found herself wanting to press herself into Petyr, just for something to anchor her, make her feel like she wouldn't be carried away into the depths she felt were waiting to take her.   
Then she felt his hand come up to her face, a familiar touch, as he brushed a thumb over her cheek.

“But I won't have you worrying. Not when you're with me...you know you have nothing to worry about when you're with me.”

And then she really did lean into him. Let his arm fall around her, pull her into him, and let herself be held close. Because she so badly wanted to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully next chapter will be up quickly. I'm having surgery in the next couple days, nothing major, just 4 wisdom teeth being removed, but I do have a week off from work and other commitments, and I'm hoping during the days of moping around on the sofa with ice packs strapped to my face I'll be able to fit in some writing.


	30. Red

Thoroughly un-wanted. That's how Sansa felt the last few days.

True, she didn't want a horrid boy like Joffrey, not now anyway, but even so he'd said he'd loved her and it had been a lie. Had he wanted Margaery, even when he'd had her? Probably. She thought of all the times he's kissed her and she felt a fool, wishing she could take all those kisses back since he hadn't deserved them.

No family, no friends, no real ones anyway, and even here Petyr held her at arms length. It seemed every day that her thoughts and feelings over her faux uncle changed. One minute, one glance, and she was sure he liked her, that he wanted to kiss her again. That kiss, that kiss, she kept thinking about it, assuring herself that it couldn't of been nothing, but by the next day she thought about it, her mind would whisper to her about Joffrey, and how he'd kissed her when it meant nothing, and Sansa would convince herself it was the same. Then the next day she would kiss his cheek goodbye again, and she would go pink and get all excited about this terrible crush she realised she had...but then....was it a crush? Or did she just like him as a man who was kind to her...but then did she misinterpret his kindness? Was she reading too much into him simply helping her, but no, no, that kiss, it always came back around to that kiss.

It was all so frustratingly muddled up in her mind, and the simplest conclusion to it all was that she wanted to be wanted. That was all.

“What's wrong, pet? You look a bit down?” Ros chirped as she walked by with about five pairs of shoes in her arms, helping other girls get ready for their first number.

Sansa had been seated in one of the vacant makeup chairs, doing absolutely nothing but fret and feel slightly sorry for herself. She kicked her legs absentmindedly, slumped in the chair “Nothing.” she said, making sure to sound woeful.

Olivia scoffed as she sewed lace onto sheer gloves “Well, I'm convinced. Why are you still out here? Petyr arrived a little while ago.”

Sansa shrugged, since explaining why she was hiding back here would be entirely too confusing.

Just then Charlotte tottered over, her face made up in exquisitely done nineteen twenties style makeup, with heart shaped lips and thin brows.

“Olivia!” she whined “Are you done with my red dress yet? The backless one? I told you I needed it for tonight!”

Sansa turned to watch quietly, whole Olivia barely raised her head, instead holding up the gloves without missing a stitch.

“Busy, Charlotte, I'll get to your dress when I get to it.”

“Oh, yeah, before Mr. Richards arrives?” Charlotte shot back. 

“There are a lot of other dresses on the racks, use one of them.” Ros said pointedly, her hand on her hip. Sansa had come to find Ros didn't like Charlotte much. Ros had explained, quite frankly, that a lot of very pretty girls are used to being the prettiest girl in their family, school, workplace or even town, used to getting whatever they want when they want it, and when they come here among all the other prettiest girls, they have trouble wrapping their minds around only being one of many. 

Charlotte never liked to act like she was one of many.

“But I need the red one, please, can you just fix it now?! I'm sure the other stuff could wait!”

Olivia didn't speed up or slow down her stitching, and again, didn't even glance upwards.

“I'm sure Mr. Richards could stand to see you in a blue dress, dear.” she said, flatly, and Ros had to turn away and busy herself with the shoes to hide her smirk.

Charlotte had a terrible puss on her face, but stalked off all the same.

“What's so special about a red dress?” Sansa muttered, watching her leave “and who's Mr. Richards?”

Ros waved a hand “Oh, he's just some old money twit who comes and spends up here every now and then, and all the room girls are vying for him because he once took Lucy out shopping at Harrods, and Charlotte has some dumb theory that he only ever goes for the girls wearing red.”

Sansa laughed “A specific taste, then. Do some men come in and only go for girls in green?”

It was meant as a joke but Olivia piped up from her stitching “Reds different,” she said “Red, the colour of passion, the colour of sex. Men are attracted to it, more than any other colour, wether they know it or not. It is something animal in them, they can't help it. Charlotte isn't too far off the money, there is a certain science behind it.”

Ros muttered something nasty about Charlotte and her non-existent science GCSE scores, but Sansa was listening intently.

“Really?” 

Olivia saw the doubt on her face and smiled “Oh, yes, red is the colour you wear if you want a man, darling. No man can resist a divine red dress. Why do you think red lipstick is the epitome of sex and class? Why is red everywhere you look on valentines day? Colours are powerful. What you wear is powerful.” she smirked “and I happened to have finished fixing that red dress a day ago, but I gave it to Noelle to wear tonight. I felt like she should have a shopping spree more than Charlotte.”

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Nights later, Sansa steeled herself.

Noelle had gotten Mr. Richards shopping spree with that red dress, much to Charlottes chagrin. Sansa had watched from above the balcony, the way he'd been unable to take his eyes off the red clad Noelle, turning so many other heads while she was at it.

It seemed there was something to this red business. 

Now, this thought rattled around Sansa's head for a night or two, a bold colour and a bold plan, but how exactly to execute it?

There were no red dresses, not one she could take. As she already knew, the backless one was in high demand, and Olivia only let her borrow things the other girls had turned their noses up at for the night. It wasn't as if she could explain her need for one, as important as it was to her.

Ros's wardrobe had proved fruitless, as Ros was much more well endowed in both hips and bust than Sansa, so nothing fit right, even the few red things she owned. There was a red jumper, but that was hardly going to do anything.

The most Sansa had at the moment was red lipstick, and for a time she resigned herself to simply making do with that, until Olyvar collected a delivery of taped up boxes, opening them in the middle of the flat.

“Oh, thank fuck, finally!” he'd sighed in relief as he pulled out bags and bags of lingerie “We ordered this Honey Birdette stuff weeks ago, express shipping my ass!”

Wandering over from her spot on the sofa to look, Sansa saw underwear in all colours and materials. Lacy black thongs, ivory white satin briefs, pink and purple and aqua marine, corsets and suspenders in all makes and sizes, sheer shifts and stockings and harnesses. It was an absolute huge haul of new wardrobe choices for the girls and the lucky men who could afford them.

Olyvar had hastily gone to rush the invoice down to Olivia's little nook in the changing rooms, after un-packing and pawing at the new goods, leaving them in a dishevelled un-wrapped mess....in the middle of the flat....unguarded.

A flash of bright red satin had caught Sansa's eye, and she acted quickly, so that she wouldn't talk herself down from this ledge.

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“I had the girl bring a drink for you, since I was having one myself.” Petyr said as Sansa slid into the usual booth besides him, with no dawdling backstage tonight.

“Thank you,” she smiled, and It wasn't until he glanced up at her properly that he stopped and regarded her with a keener eye.

“Lipstick...well, that's new.” he said, staring at Sansa's ruby red lips, painted on a coquettish smile.

“Does it look good?” she asked, uncertain.

He seemed to think on his answer for a bit “It's a very bold shade. Going for a new look where you?”

Sansa nodded, not hearing a yes “Mm, I just- Ros offered. You know, to do my makeup.” she lied, just in case he thought it un-flattering.

“Ah. I see. Yes, Ros is rather fond of her red lipstick, isn't she. Makes you look very grown up.” Petyr said, seemingly non-plussed. That answer hadn't been a yes either, and Sansa felt herself deflate a little bit. Very grown up? That's what you said to a child when they were playing dressups in their mothers cupboards. She reached forward and took her drink, noticing it was just a Lemon Lime and bitters. With a little straw.

She licked her red lips, noticing the bright stain she left on the rim of her glass as she placed it back down, and tried to keep her head up high as they watched the dancers.

Sansa shifted in her seat, keenly aware of the red satin knickers she had on, the lace settled almost uncomfortably between her cheeks. It wasn't quite a thong, but it wasn't so demure either, and comfort was not the main concern.

Of course Petyr had no way of knowing she was wearing them. Only she knew, her own little secret, but it made her sit a little straighter, feel a quiver all the way from her head to her toes. She sipped her drink quickly, to gain a little more courage, though it was barely alcoholic. When she'd stolen them away and slipped them on, she'd felt half a starlet already. Posing in front of the bathroom mirror, both admiring and critical of her own reflection. She had very long legs, everyone always said so, plus a flat tummy. She had always hoped her breasts would grow a little bigger, and she tried pressing them together, imagining what it would be like to actually have proper cleavage. She supposed they were nice enough though, pert with little pink nipples. She'd felt good looking at herself like that. The red satin clashed brightly against her pale skin and her red hair. She was slightly self conscious of the red hair between her legs, thinking maybe she should get rid of it, like all the girls here did, but she hadn't the first idea how.

Everywhere around her was sex. Glancing to her right there was a woman straddling a mans lap in a booth very similar to theirs. To her left she could spy a man rubbing his hand flat against the front of his trousers as he watched in front of him, where the dancers slowly removed tidbits of their clothes and slinked around the stage, touching each other, touching themselves.

She kept glancing over to Petyr, to see where his eyes were. The stage. Though the front of his trousers was a mystery to her, hidden by the tablecloth. Even thinking about that made her blush.

She realised she didn't know what she'd wanted to happen. For him to take one look at her red lips and have his jaw drop, to see her in a completely new light?

Ros's words echoed in her ear, about pretty girls being unable to cope with being one of many. Petyr was watching the girls on stage, gorgeous, talented, practised, all of them. He was used to beautiful girls. Girls who knew how to emit sex from every pore, in the way they moved and spoke, and here she was, just a virgin with all kinds of feelings she knew she shouldn't have, and barely understood. She felt like a child in a crowd. Playing at being sophisticated, at being glamorous, with lipstick that she obviously didn't suit, and underwear that didn't belong on her.

“Could I maybe have another drink?” she found her voice after some time “Maybe something a little bit stronger?”

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“Ok, easy now,” Petyr held his arm around her waist as they ascending the stairs together, with Sansa focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other.

The first drink had to make her worry less, to take the edge off the evening. The second drink had been brought over with one of his own, as the waitress assumed it was another round for the both of them. The third had been because she was beginning to feel good again, and why stop. The fourth was most likely a mistake.

“I'm making a mental note to perhaps not give you everything you ask for.” said Petyr, somewhat amused at her fumbling attempt at stairs.

“I'm sorry,” she said, gripping his arm tightly and wobbling slightly on her shoes as they entered the apartment.

“Don't be. I really should have stopped you at some point. I forgot how tiny you are. Figures you'd get drunk quicker.”

“Mm, not drunk.” Sansa mumbled, listening for the sounds of Ros and Olyvar, of which she couldn't hear. They must still be down stairs.

“Do you get drunk much?” Sansa asked, curious.

“Not often, no. Not when I'm with people. I hate to look a fool in front of a crowd.”

“What about all those half finished whisky bottles you have on that shelf then?”

He smiled at her “Drinking alone is another thing entirely.”

Sansa frowned as they navigated their way past the ironing board and mis-matched furniture “That seems sad though, to drink alone.”

Another smile “Doesn't it just.”

“Well, if you ever feel like drinking alone, you should come and find me and I'll join you, and then you wont have to drink alone, would you?”

“Little miss's who can't get past four standard drinks in a night shouldn't make such bold promises. You'd never match me glass for glass. Come now,” he said, getting her to her room, guiding her on slightly unsteady feet into her bed. His bed, more like.

Petyr's bed, Petyr's bed, Sansa thought as she was dropped down unceremoniously onto the covers that looked so comfy, so soft and lived in. She never made the bed properly, she never learnt how, so the quilts were always bundled up and ready to be nestled in as they were. Leaning back, she did just that, pulling up her legs to curl beneath her, murmuring in contentment to the soft bed.

“Going to sleep with your shoes on, are we?” he asked.

Sansa had her eyes closed as if she was pretending to drift off to sleep, but she smiled as she felt Petyr's fingers un-tie the ribbons of her heels that wrapped around her ankles.

“Mm, yes.” she joked, pressing her head further into the pillows, rolling onto her stomach.

He undid them gently, letting them thunk to the floor. Then Sansa felt a tug at her wig. 

“and this silly thing, time for this to come off too.”

Sansa lifted her head to pull it off, dropping it on top of the shoes, her hands coming up to pull out the multitude of pins holding back her real hair, running her hand through it. Then she had a piece of clothing tossed lightly at her head, and she shrieked and giggled from the drink still making her head swim so wonderfully.

She pulled it off and saw that it was her nightie, the old tartan teddy bear one that she'd had hanging over the back of the desk chair, and Petyr smiled wryly at her.

“Change,” he said “I'm going to go and get you some water. I wouldn't think you'd get a hangover just from four drinks, but it can happen. Water helps.”

Sansa rolled onto her back as she watched him leave, able to see him all the way into the little kitchenette area through the open doorway as he went to the cupboards to get a glass.

Bundling up the nightie in her hands, she sat up, still watching him. I won't get up to close the door, she thought. I won't. With a wicked little grin she kept all to herself, she simply turned her back and tugged her dress over her head. Slowly. As she dragged the material off her body she could hear the tap running, and as the dress was off, she glanced up at the window above the bed. The dark night sky allowed the barest of reflections, where she could see Petyr turn back towards her, where she saw him pause, glass in hand as he caught site of her, her bare back, and the red satin underwear.

Just as slowly, she slipped her nightie on to cover herself, suppressing a small smile as he made his way back in.

He'd seen them, a little thrill raced through her. He'd seen her.

She took the offered glass of water, and sipped it, watching him watching her over the rim of the glass. He said nothing, and she couldn't stand the silence.

“Will you stay here tonight?” she asked finally, eyes hopeful, un-sure to the answer she would get, but knowing the one she wanted.

His eyes seemed to roam over her. The way her nightie was hitched up around her thighs, the way she leant back into the pillows, her lips stained wet as she put the glass on the bedside table.

Stay, stay, stay, she gave off a silent plea.

Unfortunately, her pleas were met with an unreadable expression.

“Stay where?” he asked, bluntly.

Sansa looked down to the covers, fingers playing with the edge of her duvet “Here...” she said deliberately vague.

“To do what, sweetling?”

He sounded interrogatory, and with each passing second, Sansa's thrill seemed to wear off an her voice grew smaller.  
“I don't know...” she mumbled, because she truly didn't. 

Petyr seemed to sigh a little, eyes first flitting out that same small window before coming back to rest on her, as if he didn't know what to do with her.

“I feel like that would be a little inappropriate, don't you think?”

Sansa felt herself want to curl up into herself all of a sudden, burning hot with shame and embarrassment.

Petyr seemed to be waiting for her to reply but none would come. It had been a bad idea, stupid,   
and he stood there, silent and judging and lord knows what he thought of her right now. She'd gotten it all wrong and now he would think her some stupid little girl who fell in love with him after one stupid kiss that meant nothing, and now she was just a nuisance, getting drunk and needing help back to her bed, after all this trouble he'd gone through, he would have to deal with a silly girls crush. 

“And those underwear you've got on.....is that not a bit inappropriate too?”

Sansa' could almost feel the tears start to gather. The feeling she'd had knowing he'd seen her earlier was gone. She'd thought he might have liked it. Now she felt like she was in trouble. Being shamed.She felt silly and wanted to take it all back. What a child he probably thought she was.

If he wanted an answer, she didn't know what to say, and her voice was caught in her throat regardless. 

“I don't remember buying them for you. Not ones like that....Red....that's very grown up. A bit racy for a girl like you, don't you think?”

Sansa had been staring resolutely at the sheets...but at that...she flicked her eyes up to meet his. She couldn't figure out his tone. It was low. Calm and collected. It had that rasp to it he sometimes had. His face was a limbo between a smile and something stricter, but his words.....

“Stand up.”

She did so immediately, her shame making her obedient. 

His hand came up to her face and she flinched, on edge, but he simply went to clasp her chin, his thumb coming up to rest on the pout of her bottom lip.

“I knew there was something more to this lipstick...”

She felt her lip tremble under his thumb as she willed herself to speak “Petyr-”

“Take them off.”

He said it shortly, and sharply.

Sansa heard him well enough but the words didn't seem to take right away, as she blinked at him in the silent room.

“What?” she whispered. 

“You heard me. I don't wan't you wearing them anymore.” 

Sansa burned red “You...you want me to go and change?”

“Is that what I said?”

She looked at him in silent question. There was a feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know if it was a good or bad feeling yet. His words, his tone, his eyes, she wasn't sure of anything yet.

Until he leant in and spoke so low it made her shiver.

“Take them off here. Now.”

She hesitated. 

This was real. 

This was suddenly very real.

He was watching her though. Waiting. She'd made her move earlier, and now this was his. It was still a game she thought. He wanted to see if she still wanted to play. 

It couldn't be helped, her heart soared a little.

How many emotions can a girl feel at once? What she'd felt only moments ago ebbed away and were replaced by new feelings just as fast. Nervous and unsure, and bashful, and excited and scared but wanted.

I wasn't wrong, her heart beat fast in her chest.

He does want me. 

Peytyr dropped his hand and stepped back, watching her intently, as Sansa let her hands move up under her nightie. Her thumbs hooked over the top of the elastic, and she still couldn't quite believe what she was doing as she pulled down the thin material of the knickers.

His eyes fixed on her thighs as she slowly dragged the fabric down, and Sansa still felt herself blushing fiercely. Half from embarrassment, half from her own excitement. Her nightie still hid her nakedness from his view, yet she felt so exposed, feeling the material sway against her now bare skin, only an inch away from revealing herself to him.

Then he approached her, eyes dark, steps cautious, like he expected she might step away from him at any moment. She didn't though. Sansa stood right in the dim light of the room, her underwear clasped tightly in one hand, as she never broke his gaze, despite her trembling breath and the thudding in her chest.

Petyr stopped in front of her, his body mere inches away from brushing against her, as he put a delicate hand on the dip of her waist and leant in to the crook of her neck. 

“Good girl.” was all he said.

She thought he might kiss her, take her neck with his mouth as she could feel his breath just below her jaw, warm on her soft skin. But all he did was plant a chaste kiss on her check. A dry peck. Like an uncle might give. Like she gave him.

It made it all the more surprising when all of a sudden in one quick movement he raked his hand downwards and grabbed her bare ass, sliding up and under the material to cup her roughly in his hand, fingers kneading into her flesh to make her cry out in surprise. He let out a rough gasp at the contact as he felt her.

“Petyr...” she said, his fingers lingering so close to her pussy. She knew if he moved them just a fraction he would feel how wet she was, and she burned with shame as she wished he would.

Then there was the noise of the front door opening, the unmistakable creak of feet on old floorboards, unwittingly breaking the haze that had come over Sansa, as her eyes widened, and reality hit her.

Petyr withdrew his hand and stepped back from her, as they heard the chatting voices of Olyvar and Ros enter the apartment. Sansa was less composed, her mouth open, her breathing still not quite right as her entire body felt on fire. 

Then Petyr reached out for her hand, and she let him pry open her fingers, gently slipping her knickers from her . The smile he gave her was seeped in self satisfaction.

“I'll take these.” he said lowly, and slipped them into the inside of his coat pocket. A keepsake.

He left her like that, mouth slightly agape as he left the room as if nothing was amiss, shutting the door behind him.

As a breath it seemed she'd been holding left her, Sansa dropped back to the bed on shaking legs.


	31. I like you alot

Petyr breathed in hard through his nose, inhaling the scent of the red satin underwear he clenched tightly in his hand, pressed to his face. Letting out a shaky exhale, he knew he was close, his hand pumping furiously away at his cock, his eyes closed, his mind picturing Sansa. Her pretty face, her ass, the pink between her legs. He could picture her, he could smell her, the nasty, perfect little thing she was.

The effort it had been to leave her there. Her hair a mess, in nothing but a thin night shirt, in what was once his bed. He could have fucked her. She wanted to give herself and he could have taken her. God knows he wanted too. His body was electric when he left, taut as he walked, nails digging into his palm, the fabric in his coat pocket practically burning against his skin where it hid from view. His mind had been both racing and clear of everything but one thought. Her. How much he wanted her. The cab journey home had been longer than usual, every pause in London traffic prompting another impatient huff, his erection already pressing up beneath his trousers. 

Only now he was home, pressed back against the leather of his desk chair in the quiet privacy of his study, the only sound coming from his panted breaths and the slap of skin on skin as he brought himself off. Petyr breathed in deeply again, the satin soft against his nose, the smell of her pussy making his hips jerk more urgently into his hand.

He’ll wait, he had decided. After all, he had her all to himself, he held all the cards, this was his game. Sansa had made the first move, emboldened by drink, somehow repressing her repression. Petyr was sure he’d have to make the second play after she woke with a clear head and the typical guilt laced shyness of a virgin. That was all the more fun though. Have her give herself to him inch by inch, little by little, and he would savour every moment, more so than if he wasted all his fun in one night. In one fuck. She was worth more than that to him.

“Petyr? Petyr are you in their?”

He could have yelled, his mind screaming as his eyes slid hatefully to the thankfully locked door. 

“Yes.” he measured his voice, without slowing his pace, still intent on coming “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Oh, ok…are you alright in there?” Lysa said, not knowing how much he loathed her this very second.  
“Fine!” he called back through gritted teeth, eyes closing as he silently willed her away, leave, leave, leave, leave! he did his best to block even the thought of Lysa out, not have her taint this, trying to instead go back to the picture of Sansa he had perfected in his mind. Her bent over on her knees with her nightshirt hiked up over her ass, wet between her thighs, moaning so lightly as he slipped himself inside her….

He came in one long spurt, shooting up along his crisp navy blue dress shirt, though he hardly cared for the stain, only breathed out the breath he’d been holding. Unclenched his muscles as he melted into his chair, fingers still running idly over the tip of his cock, still sensitive, basking in this smallest of releases.

“Alright, I’ll leave the hall light on for you when you’re done.”

Petyr let out a dry scoff, still slumped down in the chair, taking one last sniff of those red satin knickers before tucking them neatly into the top locked draw of his desk.

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“-and the serving girls have to be topless too, like, the ones carrying out the drinks.” Joffrey said across the polished wood table, which he had his feet propped up on.

Petyr smiled accommodatingly “Whatever you wish, the girls will be happy to comply. It’s your night, after all, and I’ll make sure to make it as debaucherous as I can.”

“What does that word mean?” the idiot boy frowned.

“Another word for fun.” Tyrion mumbled down into his coffee cup, which Petyr was sure had been Irished up, if the mans breath was any indication. To give the man some credit, Petyr wouldn’t have minded a drink over this meeting either.

“Fun?” Joffrey lip curled “It’s my stag do, not my tenth birthday party, I don’t want it to be fun. I want it to be wild. I want it to be like the wolf of wall street times ten, fucking legendary.”

Jamie hadn’t spoken a word, and Cersei’s smile was forced, but then again, when was Cersei’s smile ever natural?

“It’ll be everything you want and more, my darling,” she said “It’s your last night of freedom after all, before Margaery becomes your old ball and chain…”

“Oh, please, she’s more than he deserves.” Tyrion snapped at the un-subtle barb from his sister.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joffrey snapped back even more fiercely.

“It means that if you go and fuck around with Baelish’s whores and catch something and your little fiancee leaves you over it all, I won’t feel an ounce of sympathy for you!”

“Now, he’s not going to…he knows its just a club and a show,” Jamie said, between his more contemptuous siblings, though Petyr knew even he didn’t believe the words he was saying.

“Just because he wants girls to be topless, doesn’t mean he’s going to fuck any of them, I mean this is just what men do for gods sake!”

“And so what if I fuck them, what business is it of yours?”

“Joffrey!”

“For gods sake mum, why are you even here?!”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

“Better yet, don’t talk at all, do us all a service.”

Petyr sat in the Lannisters living room as all three of them descended into their vicious petty squabbling, gathering up his menu’s and guests lists and scribbled requests.

He wasn’t too worried over them stumbling across Sansa. This lot couldn’t look past their own noses.

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His eyes landed on her the as soon as the door creaked open, where he could see her turn her head, sit up a little straighter as he stepped in the room.

Even after their last encounter, it didn’t seem as if she’d expected him back so soon. Not on a weeknight.

She had been sprawled across the sofa, in what was fast becoming a favourite look of his, that tartan teddy bear nightgown. Funny how it could elicit more of a response from him than any of the overtly provocative looks of all the girls he wandered past on his way up here. What was a see through Swarovski covered dress compared to the soft oversized cotton one that was draped almost artfully off Sansa’s shoulder before him now? Nothing, that’s what.

Though of course, he certainly wouldn’t object to Sansa wearing a see through Swarovski covered dress.

She stared at him, tousled hair and all, and failed to produce words.

He wandered over and let his eyes and his smile be his hello. He felt as if the moment didn’t need such forced formalities anyway. 

“Are Ros and Olyvar downstairs?”

“I,.. Yeah. They’re working.”

“Good. I like it when they do that. Besides, I was hoping to speak with you alone.”

“Oh. Ok…” She was already blushing as she shifted up the sofa to give him room to sit down. Bless her. He’d caught her quite off guard. Sinking into the plush, threadbare cushions, Petyr was her opposite. Calm, composed and at ease.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, hands twisting slightly in her lap, wether she was conscious of it or not.

He reclined even further, comfy and languid “What did you think I came here to talk about?”

Her look became a little harder “Don’t be all….like that.”

“Like what?”

She flustered, hands still twisting “You know…teasing. Like your playing games with me.”

Petyr furrowed his brow to appear hurt “Playing games with you? Why, what kind of games are you accusing me of?”

“You know!”

“Do I?” he kept of this little game in itself as he suddenly reached out for her wrist, drew her to him, pressed himself closer to her. She did not need much coaxing to be pulled almost into his lap, his arm wrapping around her waist, his smile wolfish “Tell me, what you think I’m doing? I don’t think I’m playing any kind of games at all, in fact, I think this is all rather serious….” he threaded his long fingers through her smaller ones, and holding her hand he lifted her hand to his lips, placing a gently kiss there “Don’t tell me you don’t take me seriously, Sansa?”

He had her smiling. Bashful and nervous, but smiling, and she stretched her fingers as if to see how they fit and felt meshed together, but she didn’t let go. She even shifted her legs by his lap to get more comfortable.

“Here,” he shifted too, guided her leg across him, so that she now sat completely across his lap. Straddled him with only a little squeak of protest, and unsure laughter “That’s better. Comfy?”

She hadn’t the nerve to reply to that, though she did run a cautious hand across his chest and he took that for a yes.

“So…what did you actually come to say?”

Petyr ran his hands idly up the sides of her thighs that were so nicely splayed apart before him “Hm, something incredibly vital. Very important. Urgent even. It really is quite bad of you to distract me like this when i have such important things to say…”

“Petyr!” she gave him a little hit.

“Joffrey will be here this weekend. His stag night.”

The laughter left her.

“Oh…”

“Oh,” Petyr repeated, more solemnly “But I only say this to have you ready for it. Not to have you worry. There isn’t anything you need to worry about. You’ll be safe, up here, out of sight, out of mind.”

She nodded “I’ll stay in my room and lock the door…fit under the bed if i have too…”

He laughed and pulled in the back of her hand for another kiss “I doubt such drastic lengths will be necessary. I’ll have two of my men up here in the living room to watch the door for you, as my own drastic enough measure.”

“And what about you? Will you be down with him? Watching him?”

Petyr dropped his eyes “And how best to say this next part…” he thought out loud, seeing her frown as he looked up “I won’t be here for that night. I’ll be In Chester by Thursday in fact. Lysa, Robin and myself have already booked our train rickets.”

Sansa looked stricken “What?…What do you mean you’re leaving on Thursday, you’re leaving without me?”

“Yes. For now.”

“What does that mean? You said I’d be coming with you, you said!”

“Shhh, shh, yes. I know…but this is the better way. The smarter way. I don’t know if we’re still being watched. I’d rather have you come down more anonymously. You’ll come down on the night they’re most distracted. When we know where they are, which way their eyes are turned…”

“…while Joffrey’s here? You’ll sneak me out while Joffrey’s here?”

“While he’s drunk, dazed and distracted. The aforementioned men that will be up here to look after you, they’ll be the ones to sneak you out the side door, into an un-licensed car…make sure you pack your things before midnight, that’s when you’ll be on your way.”

She still looked more nervous than comforted.

“…but why do you need to go down on Thursday? Why don’t we all go down on the Saturday at midnight, we can all go together in one car?”

But her question was left hanging.

“The plans have been made. Theres no changing them now.” he smiled at her “You’ll just have to trust me that this is the best way. This is how I’m going to guarantee your safety as well as mine. This is still a risk on my part Sansa, I hope you understand that…I’m doing this because your important to me.”

That quietened her, as he thought it would.

And then he lifted his hand up to her cheek and made it clear with his gaze that he meant to kiss her, and without words they leant in and let their lips meet…and unlike their almost chaste kisses before, this was fervent, more sexual, more pressing. There was no pretending anymore, there was only so far playing coy could go, and that point had been reached and passed.

He grew hard as she shifted unwittingly over his lap, leaning into him as he hands went about her waist, tried to keep it gentle, overcoming his need to paw at her. Kept his voice in check, even as he wanted to pull away and whisper to her ear, ask her questions. What did you do once I left that night, hm? Did you touch yourself? Feel the need to play with your little pussy while you thought of me grabbing your ass, so close, so close to touching you myself? Did you?

He made do with slipping a tongue past her lips, kissing her deeply, smiling as she fumbled atop him to match the movements. She was an inexperienced kisser, he could tell, but that was endearing in itself.

He let his hands wander up under the hem of her nightie to simply play at the edges of her knickers. Slipped his thumb under the elastic of what felt like plain cotton ones.

“A little different to the ones you had on the other night. Maybe I’ll make you give me these too. Start a collection.” he couldn’t help but tease, mouth hovering just over hers.

“You can’t take all my pants…” she mumbled “I won’t have any to wear.”

“And I hardly see a problem in that.”

He went to kiss her again, but this time she pulled back to look at him, her eyes searching his face.

“You like me, don’t you?” she asked with an innocence, that suggested she thought it was a simple and reasonable statement to make. To answer.

He regarded her for a second “Do I like you?” Petyr rolled the words around his mouth as if they gave him pause to think, brushing a hand up her side. 

The term ‘like’ felt insignificant to all the things he felt for her. A simple, nothing word, that only gained credence when it came from her honest eyes and the way she bit her lip as she waited on his reply.

He felt much more than like for her, but what good would it do now to heap such deep and ugly emotions on a girl as pure as this? Let her use the word like for now, even as Petyr knew she felt more than like for him in turn. He felt the way she shifted her hips slightly over the bulge in his pants. The way she clung to him with her arms over his shoulders. He would have to teach her better words. Teach her the meaning of lust and obsession and desire. Words girls weren’t meant to know at this age, but why slow down an achiever when they are so ready to run ahead?

“Mm, yes,” he murmured, rubbing his hands over her thighs and under her nightie as he gave her his answer in simple terms “I like you a lot, sweet girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! There was laptop drama. In which some idiot spilt coffee all over my laptop. and broke it. That idiot was me.
> 
> ANYWAY. New laptop, but new uni year as well. So the fun writing/academic writing juggling has commenced, but hopefully I will still get chapters out frequently enough.
> 
> Also, this stories almost over, argh!


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